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NOT IN IHEIK SET; 

OE, 

In Different Circles of Society. 


s/ 

PROM THE GERMAN OP MARIE LENZEN, 

C 


By MS. 


TRANSLATOR OF " BY HIS OWN MIGHT." 




LEE, 


boston: 

LEE & SHEPARD. 

NEW YORK: 

SHEPARD DILLINGHAM. 


HENRY L. 


HINTON 

1874. 


& CO. 


7r 


■fZ3 


“ Marie Lenzen is the name of a lady novelist 
who has lately been much noticed in Germany. 

Her specialty is the so-called society novel 

^jSTot In Their Set ’and some other of the stories 
she has thus far published, turn on the subject of 
the struggle of parentless or deserted girls, with their 
surroundings. Her sketches of German society of 
the upper classes are of great merit .” — The Galaxy, 


CONTENTS 


CHAP. PAGE. 

I. Little Margaeethe, . . .11 

II. A Broken Heart, . . .28 

lit. Married For Money, . . .40 

IV. Margarethe’s First Trial, . .49 

Y. A Dying Woman’s Secret, . .66 

VI. One of Margarethli’s Friends, . 75 

VII. Margarethe Finds an Uncle, . 86 

VIII. An Unwelcome Guest, . .100 

IX. Outraged Honor, . . . .118 

X. Leo’s Return, . . . .137 

XI. A Bitter Disappointment, . .147 

XH. The Hagendorfs, . . . .158 

XIII. The Merchant and His Book- 

keeper, 177 

XIV. A Meeting and a Parting, . .189 

XV. A Few Words of Explanation, . 210 

XVI. Marriage Schemes, . . .214 

XVH. An Insult and its Rebuff, . .22 

XVIH. Contrasting Characters, . . 242 

XIX. In Consultation, .... 250 


X 


CONTENTS. 


XX. COUNTEEPAETS, . . . . 

XXL A Steange Beteothal, 

XXII. Maegaeethe Inheeits a Foetune, 
XXIII. Leo’s Saceifice, . . . . 

XXiy. Steinthal Discovees Helene’s 
Child, 

XXV. A Steange Meeting, 

XXVI. SUMMEE FeIENDS, . . . . 

XXVII. Maegaeethe Meets an Old Feiend, 
XXVIII. In The Houe op Heed, 

XXIX. The Baeeiee Suemounted, . 
XXX. Social Equality, . . . .. 


259 

268 

273 

284 

298 

312 

332 

348 

358 

367 

373 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


o 

CHAPTER I 

LITTLE. MARGARETHE. 

Long before the railroads spread their iron net- 
work over Europe, and only a few years after the 
time when the steamboats first began to cleave the 
waters of our native rivers, a few miles from the 
right bank of the Lower Rhine, stretched a wide 
tract of desolate moor. Nothing could wear more 
entirely that aspect of utter cheerlessness which is 
to be found only in such neglected patches of 
waste land. The soil gave few signs of the wave- 
like undulations peculiar to these tracts of country, 
and as it sloped towards the centre from every 
direction like a boAvl, from whatever point a trav- 
eler might approach, the whole dreary, lifeless ex- 
panse lay stretched out before him. But rare as 
it may be to see a human countenance to which 


12 


NOT IN THEIB SET. 


youth does r-' t lend a charm, be it ever so fleeting, 
it is still more unusual to find a patch of earth to 
which Spring cannot lure a smile. It was even so 
with the moor. 

It was a warm, sunny noonday towards the 
close of May, and the moorland displayed all the 
scanty charms that nature had bestowed. The 
juniper bushes, sparsely scattered over the crests 
of the sandy hillocks which here and there rose a 
few feet above the plain, put forth new leaves ; 
rushes and water lentils grew in the lowlands, and 
young plover circled around the little patches of 
marshy ground, mingling their piercing notes with 
the songs of the moorland larks. The mullens bent 
their woolly heads at every breath of the sultry 
south wind, and in more favorable spots a few 
brave daisies ventured to peep forth among the 
coarse grass. A few years before several enterpris- 
ing persons had attempted to force the unproduc- 
tive soil to yield some produce, but the project 
was found to be unremiinerative, and therefore had 
been soon abandoned. For this purpose ditches had 
been dug here and there, and low walls thrown 
up to shut in the patch of moorland destined for 
cultivation ; but within the enclosure the brown 
heath had again asaiprted its brieflfy contested 
supremacy; birches had taken root on the narrow 
tops of the walls, and clumps of broom clung to 
their rugged, crumbling sides. The tender twigs 
of the birches were now adorned with the . most 


LIITLE MAIIGAEETUE. 


13 


beautiful golden green foliage, and th"! broom put 
forth blossoms as fresh -and bright as if there was 
no surrounding barrenness and desolation, and 
neither dust nor drought had power to harm it. 

A handsome open carriage, drawn by two strong 
brown horses, rolled along the miserable sandy 
road which led almost through the centre of the 
heath, making many an aimless turning. Two 
gentlemen were seated in the front of the calasli, a 
third occupied the back, and on the box beside the 
coachman, was a bright-looking boy about nine 
years old, with a frank, blooming face. While his 
companions, without paying much attention to 
him, had been engrossed in an-' animated conversa- 
tion, he had been gazing earnestly around him 
with an expression of eager curiosity, as if he 
wished to impress the singular picture of the deso- 
late uniform plain firmly upon his mind. At first 
he gazed over the wide moor and fixed his eyes 
inquiringly on the wretched shrub-like trees on the 
distant walls of the enclosure, then looked up at 
the lofty, cloudless sky, and at last seemed to be 
earnestly examining the stunted vegetation near 
the road. He did all this half unconsciously, and 
entirely without design ; but it beti-ayed a thouglit- 
ful mind and a certain talent for observation, 
wliich are rarely found united in early youth. But 
his years gradually began to assert tlieir claims, 
and the little traveler ceased to look about him so 
eagerly. He first addressed a few words to the 


14 


NOT IN TIIEIH SET. 


coachman, but finding him surly and unsocial, 
turned his attention to the horses ; and when these 
also ceased to occupy his thoughts, gazed into the 
distance at a hillock over which the vibrations of 
the air were made distinctly visible by the noon- 
day heat, and finally sank into that mood, which, 
when seen in children, may be either earnest lAedi- 
tation or indolent reverie. 

Meantime, the carriage was approaching the 
only landmark visible for miles, — a huge old beech 
tree v^hose trunk rose to a considerable height, 
totally bare of leaves and branches, and then sud- 
denly expanded into a majestic crown. True, the 
foliage was not so dense as is usually the case with 
this species of tree, but the fact of its being visible 
at a great distance from every direction, and the 
marked contrast it aflbrded to its surroundings, 
made it a very attractive object. The only shade 
on the whole moorland was to be found beneath it^ 
boughs, and thus the little hillock on which it 
stood, a few hundred paces from the highway, was 
the only enticing spot as far as the eye could 
reach. 

The coachman, in compliance with his orders, 
stopped opposite to the tree. The gentlemen left 
the carriage; the boy roused himself from his 
dreamy state, and climbed down from his lofty 
seat very nimbly. The oldest of the gentlemen 
took out a basket and carried it to the tree, while 
the coachman unharnessed the horses, fastened 


LITl’LE MAKGARETHE. 


15 


tlieni behind the carriage, and gave them some 
provender. 

“Well, gentlemen,” asked the oldest of the 
party, “ shall we take some refreshment now, or 
settle our business first ? ” 

They decided in favor of the latter ; the basket 
was placed under the tree, Leo received orders to 
play in the shade, and the gentlemen walked away 
over the open moorland. They moved to and fro 
along the road, carefully examining the soil, then 
sought the highest points of land in the vicinity 
and stood opposite to a row of straw men which 
were arranged upon the moor cutting across the 
ground in a straight line. At intervals, they spoke 
of sand and clay soils, of basalt and gravel, and 
the necessity of bringing these from a great dis- 
tance, discussed workmen and wages, in short, all 
sorts of things, from which it might easily be 
guessed that a high road was to be built here, and 
the two young gentlemen were government ofiicials 
who had charge of making arrangements for the 
enterprise, with the older man, the merchant, Herr 
Berger. 

In a short time they agreed so far that the 
government ofiicials promised the merchant not 
only to propose the terms upon which he would 
undertake the work, to the government, but to 
recommend that they should be accepted. The 
party then returned to the beech tree, under whose 
shade the coachman, assisted by Leo, had spread a 


16 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


cloth and arranged upon it plates, knives, glasses, 
wine, and cold provisions. The improvised table 
looked so inviting that all eagerly attacked the 
food and wine ; and the coachman seemed to con- 
sider the remnants left by the gentlemen, by no 
means too plentiful for the satisfaction of his own 
appetite. 

While they were waiting for the horses to bo 
harnessed, Leo pulled the merchant’s coat, and 
whispered : “ Papa, I am thirsty.” 

‘‘Well,” replied Herr Berger, “drink a glass of 
wine.” 

“ I have, but it does no good.’’ 

“ Then drink another.” 

“ There is no more ; Andreas has emptied all the 
bottles. Besides, I would rather have a glass of 
water.” 

“ Foolish boy ! how are we to get water here ? ” 

“ There’s a house over yonder,” said the little 
fellow, pointing to a somewhat delapidated roof 
that appeared in the midst of the moor, behind 
one of the walls previously mentioned. 

“ That doesn’t look very inviting,” replied Ber- 
ger ; besides, it is too far for us to send Andreas 
merely to get you a drink of water.” 

“ But I am so thirsty, papa,” said Leo. 

“ I can’t help it ; you must bear it for the few 
hours before we reach home.” 

The boy made a pitiful face, and uttered a comi- 
cally long-drawn sigh ; but, accustomed to implicit 


LITTLE MAEGARETHE. 


17 


obedience, did not venture to make any farther 
entreaties, when one of the young gentlemen 
kindly interposed. 

“Don’t let the poor child suifer from thirst so 
long, Herr Berger,” said he, “ the distance to the 
house cannot be very great, and what does it 

matter whether we reach D a half hour earlier 

or later ? Besides, a walk to this cottage, or what- 
ever it may be, may serve your purpose. You 
wish to find some house in the vicinity, where the 
laborers on the road can be sheltered while it is 
being constructed.” 

“I am perfectly willing to go there,” replied 
Ilerr Berger,” if it will not tax your patience too 
severely.” 

“ Certainly not,” replied the young man’s com- 
panion, “let ns go for the sake of my little friend. 
I hardly think, however, that he will get anything 
more than a glass of water, for I know the hut. 
In my wanderings through this neighborhood I 
have often passed it, and I never saw anything 
more wretched and miserable than the dwelling 
and its occupants ; yet the peasant who lives there 
is a very droll fellow.” 

The gentleman’s statement was fully verified. 
The miserable building was surrounded with a few 
small fields, sowed with rye, oats, and buckwheat ; 
it wfiB difficult to decide which of the three was 
most scanty and stunted. The house itself was 
built in a hollow, perhaps that it might have some 


18 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


protection from the keen piercing winds tliat in 
Winter swept resistlessly over the moor. Other 
shelter there was none, for the attempt to raise 
some fruit trees in a patch of ground which bore 
some faint resemblance to a garden, had totally- 
failed ; only a bird-cherry tree which had grown 
tall and slender, and pow bore an abundance of 
green fruit, had triumphed over the climate. 
With that exception the soil appeared to wish to 
have nothing to do with tree-culture ; even a little fir 
shrub on the opposite side of the garden seemed 
completely stunted, and the birches in the ditches 
of the enclosure had the pitiful aspect of genuine 
starvation. 

Berger and his companions surveyed the sorrow- 
ful picture at a single glance ; but Leo only saw 
the half decayed planks around a well before the 
house, and exclaimed joyfully : “ Ah ! there is 
water ! ” 

“ Yes, young master,” said the harsh voice of a 
man, who was sitting beside the door on a low 
block of wood, surrounded by a huge pile of dry 
heather, from which he was busied in making 
brooms of every size. “Yes, young master,” he 
repeated rising, “ there is water in it, as cold and 
clear as in Jacob’s well.” 

“ Good day, J ost,” said one of the young gen- 
tlemen. “How do you know that the water in 
Jacob’s well was cold and clear? ” 

“ Why, the well was still in good condition when 


LITTLE MAKGAEETHE. 


19 


Our Lord spoke to the Samaritan woman, and 
they certainly wouldn’t have guarded it so long 
and so carefully if the water had been good for 
nothing,” answered the peasant, — a sturdy, rather 
bandy-legged man, with a huge grey head, whose 
strongly marked features and large, light blue 
eyes, were not without an expression of intelligence 
and thoughtfulness. 

“ There is reason in what you say,” replied the 
other; “but now suppose you play the good 
Samaritan, and give this little fellow, wlio is almost 
dead with thirst, a glass of water? ” 

“ A glass of water ? ” asked dost, pushing back 
his thick grey hair with the palm of his hand. 
“ That’s not very easily done.’’ 

“ What, you won’t refuse the boy a drink of 
water ? ” 

“ A drink, no sir ; but a glass — I don’t believe 
there is one in the house.” 

“ Well then, bring it in a bowl or a mug,” inter- 
jiosed Berger, somewhat peevishly ; “ the vessel is 
of no consequence provided the contents are good.” 

“There is sense in that too, sir,” said dost 
nodding ; and then raised his voice in a loud call : 
“ Ann’-Trine, — heh ! — Ann’-Trine ! ” 

A peasant woman, bare-footed and in her 
chemise sleeves, a tall, stout figure, evidently older 
than lier husband, appeared around the corner of 
the house and asked sullenly; “Well, what are 
you shouting about, you — ? ” 


20 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


The sentence remained unfinished, when she 
caught sight of the strangers, and an expression of 
surprise and embarrassment appeared on her bony 
face, as she made an awkward curtsey. 

“ Here are some strange gentlemen,” said Jost, 
“ and a young master, who wants some water to 
drink.” 

“Well, why don’t you give him some yourself, 
you — ? ” An angry glance supplied the word. 

“Why, Ann’-Trine, I’m not so smart as you,” 
answered Jost with a grin, while his eyes sparkled 
so mischievously that his wife would certainly 
have become more furious than ever if she had 
noticed her husband ; but without troubling her- 
self any farther about him or the strangers, slio 
went into the house and soon returned with a 
water pail and a large wooden ladle. Leo was 
satisfying his thirst with a long draught, when a 
fresh, cliildish voice suddenly cried ; “ Water, 
water, Greta wants to drink, too ! ” 

The gentlemen gazed in astonishment towards 
the spot from whence the little voice proceeded, 
and perceived an object which seemed strangely 
at variance with the rude surroundings. In tlie 
corner between the pile of heather and the house, 
stood a large, coarse willow basket, filled with the 
long yellow blossoms of the hedge-mustard, a weed 
which in neglected fields often growls in great 
quantities among the oatsj and in the midst of 
these Avild flowers sat a little girl, scarcely more 


LITTLE MARGARETHE. 


2J 


than two years old, looking longingly at the water 
the boy was drinking. She was dressed in a 
knitted red bodice without sleeves, a small black 
silk cap covered her little head, and her fat, 
dimpled arms were only protected by the wide 
open sleeves of her chemise. These various articles 
of clothing were neither of fine material nor cut in 
the latest city fashion, but they were perfectly 
clean ; the little chemise, especially, was of dazzling 
whiteness. The child’s fair curls were so soft and 
bright, her little features so delicately lovely, that 
sitting between the rough old couple, she looked 
like a stray canary bird that had fallen into a 
goose nest. 

While the strangers were still gazing in astonish- 
ment at the little creature, Leo had filled his ladle 
a second time, and carried it to the child. The 
little thing drank eagerly, then looked familiarly 
up to her young benefactor, and said pleadingly : 
“ Run, run.” 

Somewhat timidly, as if he feared she might 
break, Leo lifted the little girl from the basket and 
placed her on the ground, where she instantly 
began to run up and down the slippery soil, with 
short but perfectly firm steps, here picking up a 
twig or pulling off a straw, and there lifting a 
pebble, only to throw them all away again the 
moment a new object attracted her attention. 
She showed no fear of the strangers, but apparently 
avoided the vicinity of the peasant woman, at 


22 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


whom Jost laughed slyly, when the latter called : 
“ Hop, Marie-Annchen.” 

‘‘ Ann’-Trine,” said one of the younger gentlemen 
at last, — after all had watched the little creature 
for a time in silence, — “surely this is not your 
child ? ” • 

“No,” replied the old woman smiling sourly; 
“ thank God, no, I am too old for that.” 

“ But you liave children ? ” 

“ Yes, tAvo daughters.” 

“ So you are this little thing’s grandmother ? ” 

“ No. My oldest daughter lives in M Avith 

a baker, and the other has taken service Avith tlie 
justice of the peace at B .” 

“ But how did you happen to get this lovely 
little creature ? ” 

“ I am rearing it out of charity,” said Ann-’Trine. 

Just at that moment the child fell doAAUi and be- 
gan to cry ; 'the foster mother rushed up to it, 
jerked it to its feet by its little arm, and shook it 
so angrily that its tears were hushed from terror. 
The woman’s behavior did not seem very com- 
passionate. Leo thought so too; he Av^ent up to 
the little one and tried to amuse it by laughing, 
clapping his hands, and whistling. She looked at 
him earnestly, checked her sobs, and Avas soon 
laughing as loudly and merrily as he. Then Leo 
sat doAvn beside her, collected pebbles and llo Avers 
in her little apron, and felt very happy in liis new 
role of guardian and comforter. 


LITTLE MARGAEETIIE. 


23 


Meantime one of the gentlemen asked dost 
whether his wife received any compensation for 
her charity. 

“To be sure,” answered the broom-maker; 
“ that’s just why she does it.” 

“ Then,” said Berger turning to Ann’-Trine, 
“you are probably not unwilling to gain a few 
perquisites now and then ? ” 

“ There’s need enough of it, she replied. “ What 
he earns by his broom-making is very little, and 
the soil is so poor here that it fattens neither cows 
nor men.” 

This answer suited Berger’s object. After a 
short discussion, it was arranged that the long 
shed behind the house should be prepared for a 
sleeping place for the workmen to be employed 
upon the new road, while Ann’-Trine agreed to 
supply their food, with the help of one of her 
daughters, who was to be summoned home for the 
purpose. 

As soon as this arrangement was concluded, the 
party prepared to depart. Leo was very unwilling 
to leave his little friend, and as soon as the child 
saw that he was really going, she ran after him, 
holding out her little arms, and weeping bitterly. 

“ I will come back again,” said Leo consolingly, 
“ I’ll come again soon, little Gretchen. Papa will 
often take me with him, and then I’ll bring you 
something pretty, much prettier than your little 
stones. Don’t cry any more.” 


24 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


Poor child ! she so rarely saw a kindly, scarcely 
ever a childish face like her own; the grimaces 
and rough laughter of old Jost were the only 
signs of gayety and good will to he met with 
among her surroundings. Even now the broom- 
maker knew no other way of consoling her, than 
to take her in his arms and say they would go and 
see the cows. Loving and docile as the poor 
creature was, she instantly strove to conquer lier 
grief, but constantly turne.d her little head with a 
fresh burst of tears in the direction where her 
young friend had disappeared. 

The high road was built in due time. Herr 
Berger came to the moorland to inspect the pro- 
gress of the work, usually accompanied by Leo. 
Once he also brought his son Rudolph, but only 
once; for the latter, three years older than his 
brother, was an active, restless little lad, and took 
no pleasure in the desolate monotony of the region. 
When he had watched the laborers a short time, 
and to the great joy of his father inquired with an 
interest far beyond his years, about their wages, 
their work, and the value and quality of the 
materials employed in road-building, he found the 
whole thing very tiresome, and afterwards always 
declined every invitation to drive to the new 
highway. 

Leo, on the contrary, only needed to be asked ; 
spite of his extreme youth, the moorland had a 
certain poetic charm for him. He did not linger 


LITTLE JklARGARETHE. 


25 


near the workmen, Avatcliing their toil, but stood 
on the summit of some hillock, following with his 
eyes the play of the shadows cast by the clouds 
upon the uniform level, or lay at full length under 
the old beech tree, dreaming of the rustling of the 
forest of which it was the last sorrowful represen- 
tative. When Autumn came he watched the 
bees which eagerly gathered around the blos- 
soms of the heather and wild thyme, and thought 
of the statel}^ lindens from whose fragrant blossoms 
they had gleaned honey a few months befoi'e, won- 
dering whether the trees liad lined the avenue of 
a stately castle or shaded the lowly I’oof of some 
peasant’s cottage. He could lie for hours on the 
edge of one of the sluggish shallow streams that 
here and there flowed through the lowlands, watch- 
ing the pebbles in their beds, or the stunted vegeta- 
tion growing along their banks. But whatever 
else he might do, he never neglected to pay a visit 
to the broom-maker’s hut. His principal attraction 
liere was his interest in his little protegee, Mar- 
garethe ; but he was also very fond of old dost. 
The child was dear to him as a creature upon 
whom he could bestow favors. He bought her 
wheat rolls, cakes, a rattle, or a wooden doll, told 
her of beautiful great dolls she should have bye 
and bye, and taught her to repeat little verses she 
could not yet understand, but whicli she learned 
very quickly out of love for her young teacher. 
Old dost, too, was not forgotten; Leo always 


26 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


brought a little package of tobacco and begged 
him to tell some stones. Then came fearful tales 
of ghosts, whose relation before the boy was by 
no means in harmony with the pedagogue’s anxioms, 
and these were often exchanged for waggish stories 
and jokes from the lives of buffoons and jesters, 
whose moral a conscientious instructor would per- 
haps have considered quite as doubtful as the 
ghost-stories. Leo, however, received no injury 
from them, although Eulenspiegel’s strange shoe- 
maker’ sy work sometimes came between the lines 
of his reader, or the ghost from the giant’s grave 
unexpectedly appeared in one corner of the school 
room bench. 

The highway was completed, but Herr Berger 
always drove out to it several times a year because 
he had undertaken to keep it in repair, and Leo 
invariably accompanied him to visit his friends in 
the hut. If Berger’s drives to the moorland 
occurred at too long intervals, the boy availed 
himself of a holiday as often as possible to pay a 
visit to the broom-maker and his foster child, ac- 
companied by some schoolmate who was fond of 
walking. But he seldom succeeded in persuading 
one of his play-fellows to go with him more than 
once; they usually declared it was not worth 
while to go so far to see an ugly, delapidated hut, 
a cross old peasant woman, and a little child; and 
thought the stories written by the author of the 
“Easter Egg,” far more entertaining than old 


LITTLE JHAEGARETHE. 


2Y - 

Jost’s. Leo could not contradict them, hut he 
liked little Gretchen far better than all the bright, 
pretty, clever children he saw in the city ; and the 
incredible, sometimes nonsensical stories related 
by his old friend, as he sat in the midst of the 
heather, had far greater charms for him than all 
the books he possessed. He would not have been 
able to give himself any reason for this singular 
taste, but he did not think of asking for one. As 
he grew larger and more enterprising, he no longer 
invited any one to share his walks ; he found far 
greater pleasure in his patronage of Margarethe 
and his admiration for the oratorical talent of the 
old broom-maker, when there were no jesters or 
doubters to disturb him. 


28 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


CHAPTER II. 'X 

A BROKEN HEART. 

About the time that Leo first became acquainted 
with Jost’s little foster daughter, two ladies, moth- 
her and daughter, were seated in the spacious draw- 
ing room of a large handsome house in H , en- 

gaged in earnest conversation. The mother, a still 
a beautiful woman of middle age, was carefully, al- 
most richly dressed ; her features were soft and gen- 
tle, and her whole appearance expressed tenderness 
and winning cordiality. She was sitting before her 
work table at one of the flower adorned windows, 
busied with some embroidery, and although eager- 
ly talking to her daughter, and attentively listen- 
ing to her replies, her soft white hands did not pause 
a moment in their pleasant task. 

But liow little the daughter resembled her hand- 
some mother ! She too was beautiful, and had the 
same tall slender figure, whose exquisite outlines 


A BROKEN HEART. 


29 


were unmistakable despite the negligent dress and 
attitude in which she leaned back in one corner of 
the sofa. Her hair was so soft and fair, her eyes so 
blue and gentle, that one almost wondered at the 
form and expression of her features ; for their per- 
fect regularity, and the coldness and pride visible in 
them, seemed by no means in harmony with her soft- 
er charms. Another circumstance also lessened the 
pleasure which the sight of her beauty would other- 
wise have afforded. She was evidently ill ; or was it 
some other cause that mai’ked that line of suffering 
between the delicate eye-brows, drew down the 
corners of the mouth, and outlined the color in her 
fair cheeks so sharply ? 

The entrance of a pretty maid-servant interrupted 
the ladies’ conversation: “ Frau Hegierungsrathin^ 
Geheimrathin Ladner,” she announced. 

“You are very welcome,” said the older lady, as 
she hastily advanced to receive her visitor. Her 
daughter, however, rose slowly, caught up a piece of 
needlework that lay on the table before her as if 
she had been employed upon it, and then turned, 
with a suppressed sigh, towards the door to greet 
the entering guest. 

The latter was a very loquacious, gossiping per- 
son ; after many inquiries about Fraulein Helene’s 
health, and assurances of her sincere regret that 
she was no better, she passed on to the latest city 
news, and thus at last reached the fact, which in 
the opinion of the mother and daughter, she had 


30 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


come especially to communicate. “ What was it 
I wanted to ask ? ” said she. “ Ah ! — yes — do you 
remember that officer who was quartered in your 
house at the last great parade, my dear Regier- 
ungsrathin ? ” 

“ Certainly ; it was scarcely three years ago. 
We had two officers in the house: General von 
S and his adjutant, young Count Steinthal.” 

And both,” said Helene, on whose cheeks the 
Geheimrathin thought she perceived a slight 
heightening of the feverish flush, “ both were very 
estimable men.” 

“Well, my dear young lady, opinions are some- 
what divided. Many say the general is very 
haughty.” 

“ He may be so,” replied Helene, calmly. “ This, 
however, is certain : we never saw anything of it 
while he was an inmate of our house.” 

“I don’t doubt it, Fraulein Helene, I don’t 
doubt it in the least. But I did not intend to 
speak particularly of him, I alluded to the young 
man, Count Steinthal. Have you heard any news 
of him lately ? ” 

“Just after he left here,” replied Helene’s 
mother, “he exchanged several letters with my 
husband ; but as usual in such correspondences, it 
gradually died out. I really cannot say whether 
the Count or my husband wrote last ; but we have 
heard nothing from him for a long time.” 

“ Ah ! then I can tell you a piece of news,” said 


A BROKEN HEART. 


31 


tlie Geheimrathin hastily, as if she feared some 
one might anticipate her and be the first to com- 
municate the weighty intelligence. “The Count 
was married a few days ago to a distant cousin, 
Fraulein von Metelen. They say she is very 
beautiful; and it is certain that she is rich — her 
brothers are dead, and she is the sole heiress of all 
the family property, which is very large.” 

Every tinge of color faded from Helene’s cheek 
for a moment, but the change was so instantaneous 
that even the keenly observant newsmonger 
doubted whether the young girl had really turned 
pale ; all the more so when, almost before she had 
fairly ceased speaking, Helene replied in a clear, 
firm voice : “ I am very glad to hear Count Stein- 
thal has obtained a rich wife ; for I fear his own 
circumstances are somewhat straitened, and he 
has not the least idea how to deny himself any- 
thing.” • 

“Well,” observed the Regierungsrathin, “that 
is usually the case with young men in his position 
in society.” 

“Very likely, mamma; but papa thought he 
was entirely too extravagant.” 

“Fraulein von Metelen probably judges him 
more leniently, since she has ventured to make 
him the possessor of her hand and fortune. The 
wedding was magnificent, and the bride’s toilette 
costly and elegant beyond description. Fraulein 
von Stock, the daughter of Colonel von Stock in 


32 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


M writes my Elise that she never was present 

at so superb an entertainment.” 

“ So Fraulein von Stock went to the wedding,” 
said Helene. ‘‘ Oh ! mamma, if we could only 

have such ar brilliant wedding in H ! Nothing 

ever happens here, nothing at all. I almost think 
that people get sick out of pure ennuis 

“ Helene,” said her mother reprovingly, I don’t 
like to hear you say such things, even in jest. 
Those who really have a sincere desire for employ- 
ment never lack suitable occupation ; busy people 
never suffer from ennuis 

“ Ah ! Frau Geheimrathin,” cried Helene laugh- 
ing, “mammals scolding me because I have not 
finished her cap ; but I will try to make amends 
for my fault. Look, mamma, I shall have it done 
before supper time.” 

However sharply the Geheimrathin might watch, 
whatever dangerous subjects she touched upon, 
Helene did not betray by the slightest sign any- 
thing that could confirm her suspicions of a pre- 
vious understanding between the young girl and 
Count Steinthal, and she at last went away very 
much out of humor that she had not succeeded in 
making the discovery for which she had set out. 

As soon as the Hegierungsrathin and her daugh- 
ter were once more alone, Helene sank back in her 
corner so pale and exhausted that even a far less 
sympathizing heart than her mother’s must have 
been touched with the deepest compassion. The 


A BROKEN HEART. 


33 


young girl had lost all composure, all self-control. 
She trembled in every limb, wrung her hands, and 
stammered with quivering lips : “ Lost ! — for- 

gotten! — abandoned! Oh, mother, this, the fate 
of the most miserable creatures is your daugh- 
ter’s destiny ! ” 

“My child, n?y poor dear child,” whispered the 
mother, Avho Avas striving to restrain her tears, “ do 
not allow it to affect you thus, do not be so utterly 
ovei'Avhelmed ! We have long foreboded this, nay, 
Ave have almost expected it as a certainty ; hoAV 
can you be so completely crushed by what AA^e 
haA^e long foreseen ? ” 

“ Mother, I have perceived in this bitter hour, 
Avhat, until to-day, I refused to acknoAvledge even 
to myself : I Avas foolish enough to still cherish 
hope.” 

“ Hope — dear Helene, it is no folly to cling to 
such a SAveet, gentle consoler; do not renounce 
her. I Avill not say that these memories will be- 
come totally blotted out, but they Avill groAV 
fainter; you will become calmer, will once more 
find joy in the love of your parents and brothers, 
and even in life itself. Perfectly happy, I fear 
you will never be again ; but you Avill have strength 
to shut out all recollections of the past, to turn 
your gaze tOAvards a peaceful, qniet future, and 
once more cling to life.” 

“Ho, mother, I shall never do that again; 1 
have not cherished such a belief even fora moment. 


34 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


The sole hope I liad was fixed on him — I confess it 
to you and to myself with the deepest shame — and 
it has proved as false and treacherous as he. I 
have now but one desire left : to be permitted to 
die; and one longing, consuming wish, which can 
never be gratified : to be once more united to my 
poor, forsaken child.” Her voice faltered, Helene 
was struggling with passionate tears but she reso- 
lutely forced them back. She dared not, would 
not weep, for nothing would have more plainly 
suggested the thought that her sufferings were 
entirely mental, than eyes bedimmed with tears. 

Her mother sat opposite to her daughter in 
silence, unable to sooth her, and lacking courage 
to tell her in words that her one ardent desire was in- 
deed impossible to fulfil. Thus the time passed in 
sorrowful silence until a step was heard on the 
staircase, and the Ivegierungsrathin anxiously ex- 
claimed : “ Here comes your father ! Compose 
yourself, child ! ” 

Helene started up. Her breast heaved, her 
cheeks flushed, and for a moment she struggled ^ 
with an emotion that threatened to suffocate her. 
But she soon— at least outwardly — regained her 
self-command, and when her father entered the 
room, he found her in the quiet languid attitude of 
an invalid. 

Regierungsrath Lorsberg was a stately man of 
powerful frame, in the very prime of life, with a 
firm, self-possessed demeanor, and a certain stern- 


A BROKEN HEART. 


35 


ness in his manner, whicli, however, did not strike 
one unpleasantly, but seemed well suited to his 
quiet, decided movements. lie first greeted liis 
Avife Avith grave aflbetion, and then saluted his 
daughter in a similar manner. “ Still so industri- 
ous, dear Sophie ? ” he asked, “ I think your mother 
shames you, Helene.” As he spoke a smile flashed 
over his face, scarcely stirring his lips, but gleam- 
ing brightly in his earnest eyes. It gave him a 
strong resemblance to his beautiful daughter ? 

“ I had that frightful pain in my chest to-day, 
papa ; you know it always makes me a little lazy, 
and mamma is very indulgent.” 

A shadoAv clouded the father’s face, and he 
paused for a moment before he said : “ I have re- 
ceived a letter. Guess from Avhom ? ” 

Both ladies thought of Count Steinthal, and 
changed color ; the mother, Avith evident embarrass- 
ment, ansAvered : “ That is rather a difficult thing 
to guess. Perhaps from my brother? ” 

“ No, I AA'ill tell you : from Professor Seemann.” 

Helene Avas silent, and a sudden dread checked 
the Regierun^srathin’s words a moment ; but she 
strove to compose herself sufficiently to ask Avitli 
apparent interest: “Won’t you tell us Avhat your 
old friend Avrites ? ” 

“You are not good at dissimulation, Sophie,” re- 
plied the Regierungsrath, “ your face betrays that 
you have alread}’’ guessed the contents of the letter.” 

“ He speaks of his son ? ” 


36 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


“Yes, and renews his proposal for Helene’s 
hand,” replied the father, with more sternness in 
his tone than before. 

Helene turned pale, and sat gazing straight be- 
fore her in silence ; her mother uttered a deep sigh. 

“ Well,” asked the Regierungsrath still more 
harshly, “ will you not condescend to give me an 
answer? ” 

“Father,” stammered Helene imploringly, “I 
entreat you not to press this matter.” 

“ What ? ” replied Herr Lorsberg, without any 
outburst of wrath it is true, but Avith a look and 
tone so stern and severe that it Avould have re- 
quired stronger nerves then his poor daughter’s to 
endure them. “Do you call it pressing Avhen you 
are permitted to keep a worthy, estimable young 
man waiting for months for a reply to his honor- 
able proposal, Avhile a simple ‘yes ’or ‘no’ Avould 
relieve him from the most torturing suspense?” 

“ Oh ! my dear hither,” cried Helene, “ if I am 
allowed to reply with a simple ‘ yes ’ or ‘ no,’ I will 
speak the latter with a thankful heart.” 

“ What reason have you for your decision ? ” 
asked Lorsberg, turning slowly towards her Avith 
a deep flush upon his cheeks, and })lacing a strong 
emphasis upon every Avord. “Don’t talk to me 
about want of love, and such childish foll}^ Why 
can you not love a man Avho is in every Avay so 
deserving of afiection ? Speak! You cannot 
ansAver ? I hope that frivolous officer, that ruined 


A BROKEN HEART. 


37 


Count, does not stand in tlie way of my friend’s 
noble son ! ” 

“ He does not, father ; he can no longer do so — 
ho is married.” 

“ Married ? ” exclaimed the young girl’s father, 
and at this moment his friend’s son was forgotten, 
he now felt only for his daughter. “Married?” 
he repeated ; “ and his promise, which I know is 
pledged to you and not yet restored to him ? My 
daughter’s betrothed husband dares to wed another? 
The dishonorable scoundrel ! If this will not rouse 
a man to vengeance — ” 

“ Father, father,” interrupted his wife in mortal 
terror ; “ calm yourself, I implore you. See, Helene 
is suffering more from your violence than — ” 

“Than that rascal’s villainy? No, Sophie, that 
cannot be. Anger can only wound ; but faithless- 
ness poisons the heart.” 

“ But consider, dear Lorsberg ; Helene is ill — ” 

“ 111 ? And why is she ill ? Whose fault is it, 
except that miserable scoundrel’s, whom may my 
curse — ” 

i “No, do not curse him, father,” said Helene. 
She was standing beside her father, trembling in 
every limb, and caught his uplifted hand. “I 
promise you that he shall no longer have the 
slightest influence upon my decision. Hoav could 
he? Ought I, can I think of him in any other 
way than as a dead criminal, whom we pardon, 
but despise.” 


38 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


“There 7ny daughter speaks,” said Lorsberg, 
grasping and pressing her hand as if she were a 
man. “You are right. That is the stand you 
must take towards the deceiver. But, if you per- 
ceive this, I may also be allowed to hope that 
Friedrich Seemann to the great joy of his father 
and myself, will soon succeed to the privileges of 
your faithless lover.” 

“Father,” pleaded Helene, “see how ill I am, 
and have patience until there is a change in me. 
Will it not be better even for Seemann himself, to 
wait for my consent until I am well, or till deatli 
forbids it ? ” 

Angrily — yes with j^ositive anger — he now looked 
at the feeble, drooping creature before him whose 
words had roused a fear which he liad hitherto 
always endeavored to crush down. But what lie 
read in the pale face did not permit him to express 
to her the feelings that tortured and angered him. 
He turned away, and walked up and down the 
room with firm, steady steps, until he had con- 
quered himself sufficiently to be able to speak 
calmly. Then he cast a reproachful glance at his 
weeping wife, and said to Helene : “ It ought not 
to be ; but we easily spoil a sick child, and then it 
becomes obstinate. You shall have your own way 
this time. See that you get perfectly well again, 
then we will talk of your future. Next month 
your mother shall take you to Ems, and I hope, 


A BROKEN HEART. 


39 


Bay, I am sure that you will come back wdth all 
your old roses.’^ 

The mother took Helene to Ems, but the springs 
had no healing power. When her father saw her 
on her return all hope disappeared. It would have 
been vain — the first snows of Winter fell on his 
daughter’s grave. She parted from life with difii- 
culty ; the struggle was a severe one, for she left a 
heavy care behind. Her mother was alone with 
her in her last hours, and when she closed her 
dying eyes, whispered, in spite of her own agony : 
‘‘Thank God.” 

Her mother’s only brother came to poor Helene’s 
funeral. He was an elderly, childish widower, and 
the dead girl had been very dear to him. When 
he stood beside the corpse with his sister, his mild, 
calm eyes filled with tears, and he said in a tremb- 
ling voice : “ Ah ! Sophie, how natural it is for 
you to mourn her so bitterly ; I have scarcely ever 
grieved so sorely as to-day, not even when we 
buried our dear mother. Sweet Helene ! — she was 
such a dear, bright girl — Ah ! that we should lose 
her so early ! It would be such a consolation to 
you and all of us, if she had at least been spared 
until she was married and had left us a child, her 
dear little image; alas! that she must die un- 
married.” 

“ Yes, she died unmarried,” faltered the unhappy 
mother. “ Yet thank God that He has taken her 
to Himself,” she added inaudibly. 


40 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


CHAPTER III. 

MARRIED EOR MONEY. 

From the house of the distinguished government 
official we take the reader to a stately castle, the 
residence of a still more influential man. The time 
of its erection, as the exterior plainly sliows, dates 
hack to the feudal ages. Standing upon a beauti- 
ful, luxuriant wood-land meadow, on the shore of a 
clear lake, the walls of the various buildings have 
that peculiar greyish tint which only the lapse of cen- 
turies can bestow upon the dwellings of men. It 
has its gateways and towers, its gables and bal- 
conies, its lofty chimneys, and various quaint pro- 
jections, and is provided with secret doors and draw- 
bridges. 

The castle is very beautiful, and seems almost 
conscious of its own charms, so brightly is it mir- 
rored in the waters of the lake at its feet. But it 
is a haughty beauty, always the same, whether it 


MARRIED FOR MONEY. 


41 


stands batlied in smiling peaceful sunlight, or 
darkened by approaching storms, alike Avhen its 
delicate lines of architecture are sharply relieved 
against the winter snows, and when Spring adorns 
the surrounding region with flowers and foliage. 

It is Spring-time now. The forests on the verge 
of the meadow wear their “crowns of glory,” to use 
the striking words of the poet, and in the old 
French garden at one side of the castle, the bright 
buds and blossoms of May toss their heads, and fill 
the air with fragrance. Countless birds twitter 
from their nests among the dense ivy that shrouds 
the corner of the western tower; the swan sails 
across the lake with outspread wings to protect his 
mate brooding over her nest on the shore, from 
any threatening danger ; the sunlight is so bright 
and warm, the shade of the two rows of huge 
linden trees that line the castle avenue so cool 
and refreshing, that one would suppose that no 
heart could dwell here and not rejoice in the ex- 
quisite freshness and mildness of the day. But no ; 
here, too, there are souls which, amid all the beauty 
and majesty of nature are wholly insensible to her 
influence. 

In one of the spacious apartments of the castle 
were two men, who conversed together in low tones, 
in the intervals between long pauses when each was 
absorbed in his own thoughts. One was young and 
of powerful frame, the other stood upon the thresh- 
old of old age ; but there was so striking a resera- 


42 


KOT IN THEIR SET. 


blance in the form and expression of the features, 
as well as in their bearing and gestures, that one 
would instantly suppose them to be father and son. 
Both had the same erect figure, the same slow man- 
ner of moving the hand and head, and the same 
indifferent, reserved expression. The older man’s 
face betrayed more craft than benevolence; but 
the younger’s expression would have been better, 
were it not for the disgust and weariness visible 
in his countenance. Neither looked at the beauti- 
ful landscape, they did not even raise their eyes to 
the windows outside of which the sunbeams were 
weaving: a radiant network over forest and lake; 
the old man gazed at the gold snuff-box in his hand, 
and the young man fixed his eyes upon the inlaid 
floor. 

They had already spent many liours in un- 
comfortable silence, or short, hastily interrupted 
snatches of conversation ; for they had been sitting 
in the same apartment since daybreak, and now 
the evening shadows were beginning to lengthen. 
They had scarcely left the room in which they had 
passed this weary day a single half hour to take a 
hasty meal, and their solitude had only been inter- 
rupted at rare intervals by the appearance of a ser- 
vant. They seemed to be waiting in eager expect- 
ation for some event of importance to both, and yet 
it was evident that the leaden weight of weariness 
weighed more heavily upon the younger than 
anxiety or care. At last he seemed to find the 


MARRIED FOR MONEY. 


43 


burden unendurable, started up with a sudden move- 
ment, as if he were violently bursting a chain, and 
said : “ I am going to take a little ride, father.” 

Mon Dieu^ Carl, what are you thinking of?” 
exclaimed the other in astonishment. “It is im- 
possible, mon cheT,'^'' 

“ Impossible ? With the loveliest weather in 
the world, and horses only waiting to be saddled ? ’ 

“ But, mon enfant^ we are expecting the an- 
nouncement of the much desired event every 
moment, and nothing could be more unseemly 
than for you not to be present to receive the 
news.” 

“Unseemly? Good Heavens, wc are in the 
country. There is no one here but the servants, 
and the Miltenberg doctor, who will be no great 
stickler for etiquette.” 

“ No, it is not that, but your wife. She would 
never forgive you if she should ask for you, and 
you were away from home.” 

“ Do you suppose she will ask lor me, papa ? ” 
said the young man, bitterly, fixing his heavy eyes 
so steadily upon his father’s that the latter involun- 
tarily turned his head away. 

“Why, Carl, it would be very natural if she 
should inquire for you in this anxious hour.” 

“ It would be, papa, if our other relations were 
natural ; but you know very well that is not the 
case.” 

“ J!fo« Dieu^ Carl, quelle folie! Your relations 


44 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


with your wife unnatural ! For God’s sake don’t 
say that; for even if it were so, whose fault would 
it be but your own ? ” 

“Mine, father? you know better. Or was it 
natural that I, a man scarcely twenty-seven, should 
ask the hand of Therese, who is ugly, ill-tempered 
and almost ten years older? Was it natural that 
I should sacrifice freedom, life, my whole future 
happiness, to a cousin so repulsive to me?” 

“No, cAer enfant, that certainly would not be 
natural ; but you did nothing of the kind.” 

“I did not, father! ” exclaimed the young man 
with an outburst of anger. What, do you make 
sport of my misery ? Have I not been her liusband 
a year ? ” 

“ Certainly, Carl, that is perfectly true ; I only 
disputed the assertion that you had sacrificed to 
her your youth, your future, and other treasures. 
You did nothing of the sort; for if you have 
really made any sacrifice, you thought in so doing 
very little of your cliarmante coiishie, but far more 
of the broad lands and large possessions she would 
bestow with her — I admit — somewhat thin and 
yellow hand.” 

“ But, father, did I take this ‘ thin, yellow hand ’ 
cheerfully, of my own free will? ” 

“ Why, cher enfant, you were twenty-seven 
years old, long past your majority, when you 
married ; so it is evident that no one could force 
you to do so.” 


MARRIED FOE MONEY. 


45 


“No, not as we compel a little cliilcl, by hunger 
and blows ; but you will not deny that there is a 
moral constraint far more powerful, and that you 
pitilessly exercised it upon me.” 

“I should not have expected you to use such 
words towards your father, Carl, at the very hour 
when you are expecting the birth of an heir. If I 
persuaded you to listen to reason, was it not for 
your own advantage ? If I called your atteutiou 
to the ruin towards which you were inevitably 
rusliing without your cousin’s saving hand, whose 
ruin did I seek to avert ? was it not your own ? 
If I furthermore called your attention to the dis- 
grace which threatened our name, did I utter even 
one word Avhich was untrue or exaggerated? You 
know as well as I that it was the most urgent 
necessity which induced you to make this mar- 
riage.” 

“But how was I brought into this urgent need? 
Was it not through you, father? ” 

“Not entirely, mon ami. The estates of the 
Steinthal family were very much embarrassed wlien 
they came to me, and your mother’s fortune proved 
much smaller than I expected. Tlie times were 
difficult and unsettled, I was obliged to live in a 
style befitting my rank, and you, my son, spent 
much more money than was at all necessary. 
Thus it was really only partly my fault that a 
wealthy- marriage became still more important for 
you than for me. Besides, you can congratulate 


40 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


yourself that you were not deceived in your wife’s 
income, as was the case with me ; so I don’t see 
why you should reproach me for a thing which 
was done solely for yourself, and your own 
advantage.” 

‘‘You forget, father, that my mother was as 
beautiful and lovely as Therese is ugly and dis- 
agreeable. But enough of this; I would endure 
all without complaint if my conscience did not 
ceaselessly torture me with the bitterest upbraid- 
ings.” 

“I don’t exactly understand you, Carl. How 
can your conscience upbraid you for having re- 
solved to marry your — well, I confess it — some- 
what elderly cousin, and save our ancient, noble 
house from disgrace and ruin ? It is certainly the 
most sensible and advantageous thing you ever 
did in your life.” 

“ I admit the matter might be justified from that 
point of view, if I had been free ; but bound by 
the most sacred ties as I was — ” 

“What am T to understand by' that? You 
bound by sacred ties?” the old count hastily 
interrnpted, in evident alarm. “ I hope you have 
not been such a fool as to allow yourself to be 
enticed into a secret marriage with that govern- 
ment official’s daughter.” 

“ No, father, it is not that ; I have not been 
enticed ; it was only my own passionate love for 
the hapless girl that drew me on. If the word 


MAKKIED FOR MONEY. 


47 


seduction can be used in relation to such circum- 
stances, I was the seducer, although I never thought 
of making Helene — of making her wretched.” 

“ But what do you mean by talking about sacred 
ties, mon garcon?'^'* asked the father in a tone of 
relief. It was certainly very commendable that 
you did not intend to injure the girl.” 

“But I have done so, nevertheless. Ah! father, 
you surely know how unutterably Avretched I have 
made her, yet you jDretend to think that I can be calm 
with the ever present thought of the hopeless misery 
into which I have plunged such a lovely creature.” 

“ Well, Carl, I don’t merely pretend, I really 
think if you were a sensible man you would not 
turn grey in giaeving over an old, forgotten tale. 
How many men of aristocratic families do you 
suppose there are, who ever marry ladies of equal 
rank without having had previous entanglements? 
Most of them, too, have gone as far as yours. 
They settle these little affairs and foi-get them ; 
voila tout. I myself have — but who is that ? Ah 1 
Frau Schonfeld. Well, how is the countess?” 

The elderly Avoman to AAdiom the count addressed 
these Avords, Avas Countess Steinthal’s AA^aiting 
maid. She curtsied repeatedly, and Avith an 
agitated face and excited manner congratulated 
the two gentlemen on the birth of a daughter and 
grand-daughter. 

“But, mon exclaimed the old count, 

“ isn’t it a boy ? ” 


48 


NOT IN THEIK SET. 


“ God bless the cliild,” said his son half under 
his breath, and left the room, while his father 
slowly followed him. 

At the bedside of his wife, who at his entrance 
had betrayed little of the emotion, the affectionate 
cordiality which usually fills the lieart of a young 
mother Avdieii slie meets her husband at such an 
hour — at the bedside of this cold, repellant dainCj 
stood young Count Steinthal, kissing his little 
daughter with bitter though hidden tears. He 
Avas thinking of another sick-bed, of the sufferings 
of another Avhom lie had Avronged ; — that it had 
become a death-bed he did not yet know. Before 
his mind’s eye appeared a cradle, and Avithin it a 
little, forsaken child. Where did the cradle stand ? 
Who had charge of the pool little creature ? he 
kncAV not, he had not been able to ascertain ; noth- 
ing Avas left for him but to think with consuming 
longing of the child whose mother he had loved. 
But the eyes that rested on the little daughter of 
his unloved Avite, Avere filled Avith remorse for the 
past, rather than Avith the joy of a neAV-made 
father. 


MAKGAEETHE’s ElllST TJilAE 


40 


CHAPTER IV. 

margarethe’s first trial. 

With tlie inevitable progress of time, Count Steiii- 
tbal’s two daugliters grew to maturity. Louise, 
the daughter of his aristocratic wife, in her parent’s 
castle ; Margarethe, Helene’s forsaken child, in the 
Imt of the broom-maker, Jost. Neither of them 
knew of the other’s existence, and they never met, 
of course; for the circles in which they lived Avere 
as Avidely distant and dissimilar as the rank and 
fortune Avhich had fixllen to the lot of each. An 
equal difference, of course, existed in the education 
and the mental and moral development of the two 
young girls; yet the sisters, A\diolly unknown to 
each other, Avere strikingly alike in outAvard appear- 
ance. Both resembled their father. Count Stein- 
thal, but both in many respects were also remark- 
a1)ly like Margarethe’s beautiful mother, a fact 
Avhich no one as yet had been able to notice. 

One Spring afternoon, as Avarm and bright as 
the day on which Leo Berger had seen little 
Margarethe for the first time, the latter Avas sitting 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


r)0 

an ler the cherry tree in lier foster fatlier’s miser- 
able garden. The young girl was entirely alone ; 
there was not a soul in the house or anywhere 
near the wretched dwelling. Nature, which in 
the briglitest hours of the year was gay and allur- 
ing even here, was her sole companion. Thousands 
of bees were humming above her head around the 
white blossoms of the tree ; the lilacs that Leo 
had planted at the entrance of the little garden, 
waved their fragrant clusters in the sunlight, and 
the merry song of the finches echoed from the 
slender birches which had grown up beside the 
thicket of stunted firs. It was Sunday, so Mar- 
garethe held a book in her liand instead of work, 
bnt she was not reading; there was too mucli joy 
and beauty around her, for her to be able to turn 
her gaze away. Her clear blue e3"es wandered 
with an expression of the most lieartfelt delight, 
from the blossom-crowned tree, over to the green 
corn-fields, to the birches, and tlie warbling birds, 
and to the bed where the primroses were bloom- 
ing ; and at last, as if she must give her happy 
mood some positive expression, she burst into a 
little song, which sounded as bright and gay as the 
trilling notes of the finches. 

Under cover of the singing a step approached 
entirely unheard, and she did not notice tliat any 
one had entered the garden until a hand was laid 
on her shoulder and a pleasant voice said : “ Good 
evening, Margarethe. Are you so very happy ? ” 


margarethe’s first trial. 51 

“ Good evening, Leo ! Am I very happy ? how 
can you ask? Is it not Sunday and May-day 
both ? I am all alone in the house, for mother has 

gone to church and father to M . I was sitting 

here in the garden thinking how beautiful the 
world is, and how it grows more beautiful every 
day, and suddenly I began to sing all by myself, 
to vie with the birds.” 

“All by yourself,” repeated Leo. “Yes, you 
always do everything good and beautiful all by 
yourself.” 

“Oh, no,” said Margarethe, with a shade of 
embarrassment ; “ you think too well of me. I 
really ought to be reading the prayer book because 
it is Sunday ; but I did not get very far and have 
been looking at the fields and flowers instead, and 
paying more attention to the bees and Summer 
birds than to the book. But, Leo,” she added apolo- 
getically, “I have been thinking of God amid it 
all.” 

“ I am sure of that, Margarethe. But didn’t you 

say that Jost had gone to M ? How strange ! 

he generally goes no farther than the church at 
B on Sundays.” 

“Yes, it is strange,” replied Margarethe with a 
merry laugh ; “ you will think so when I tell you 

the reason. Father has gone to M to-day to 

get his wheelbarrow ; for, as we drove home from 
there yesterday in a carriage, we couldn’t bring it 
with us.” As she uttered the words she rocked 


52 


KOT IN TJIEIR SET, 


herself gleefully to and fro, rubbing her bands like 
a joyous child. 

“ You drove home in a carriage ? ” said Leo in 
astonishment. “ How did that happen, Mar- 
garethe ? ” 

“Yes, you may well ask, Leo. It made plenty 
of stir when we returned here. Hu — Avasn’t mother 
beAvildered? but father Jost didn’t care much for 
that, and it Avas so delightful.” 

“ But tell me hoAV it happened, Margarethe.” 

“ Why, it Avas all very simple. You know all 
through April, it did nothing but snoAV, hail, and 
rain, so that everybody Avho Avasn’t obliged to go 
out, remained quietly at home. Father did not go 

to M Avith his brooms after the middle of 

March, but just on account of the bad AA^eather, the 
people used twice as many as usual. They told us 
the mud Avas ancle deep in the streets and yards, 
and the door-steps Avere not much better. Father 
noAV had a large stock of brooms, so he packed his 
wheelbarroAV full, I took an immense bundle on my 

back, and Ave Avalked to M yesterday morning 

Avhen the sun Avas quite high, but the earth still 
sparkling brightly Avith dew. Noav you know, Leo, 
father is very clever — ” she paused and looked at 
her young friend with an air of such roguish ex- 
pectation, that he instantly gave her the pleasant 
assurance : “ To be sure, Margarethe, there are not 
many men like Jost.” 

She nodded gaily, and continued : “ yes, that is 


makgaretiie’s first trial. 


53 


true ; iutlier soon noticed that the market for 
brooms was very good; he raised his price, and 
before noon we sold them all and obtained more 
than four thalers — just think of it, more thaji four 
thalers! It was too much; we could scarcely 
believe it.” . 

“But what has that to do with the carriage?” 
asked Leo, involuntarily joining in the laugh of his 
gay companion. 

“You shall hear. What are we to do with all 
this monej^? asked father Jost; and I advised 
him to buy mother a neck-handkerchief, and the 
two young women — father’s daughters, you know — 
each an apron. We did so, but still had nearly 
three thalers left. Then father Jost said it was an 
enormous amount of money, and we must do some- 
thing for our own pleasure. We stood before the 
shop windows in great perplexity, and it suddenly 
occurred to me that the teacher was doubtless 
right when he told us that the rich were often more 
unhappy than the poor. I wouldn’t believe it 
before, but now I understand that people may be 
badly off when they have so much money that they 
don’t know what to do with it.” 

“Your misfortune probably did not last long, 
Margarethe.” 

“No; an accident came to our assistance. A 
carriage, such as wealthy merchants use, passed 
us ; it belonged to Herr Hagendorf, and his wife 
and daughter, beautiful Fraulein Emma, were lean- 


54 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


ing back among tlie soft cushions. I involuntarily 
said: ‘If only one could ride just once in such a 
carriage.’ ” 

“ Aha ! and they asked you to get in ? Do you 
know them, Margarethe ? ” 

“ They did not ask us to get in ; but I know 
them very well ; their cook often buys of us. But 
father now knew what to do. ‘ Yes, Gretchen,’ he 
cried, ‘ you shall have that pleasure ; you shall ride 
home in a coach, and I will sit beside you. We 
have carried and pushed many dozens of brooms 

to M ; now, for once, a pair of fast horses shall 

take us back.’ He ran to a livery stable so fast 
that I could scarcely follow him ; and when I came 
up with the wheelbarrow, which he had forgotten 
in his haste, he had already made a bargain with 
the man. A pair of horses were harnessed into a 
light open carriage, and the wheelbarrow was 
pushed into one of the stalls until father could 
come for it ; we got in, and drove like the wind 
through the streets, between the tall houses, and 
over the bridge to the gate, past gardens and fields, 
and across the moor, on the highway your father 
built. When we turned off* by the great beech tree, 
and drove here over tlie old sandy road, the car- 
riage rocked gently to and fro ; if it had lasteTl 
much longer I should have fallen asleep, and 
dreamed Heaven knows what visions of splendor 
and magnificence.” 

Margarethe paused and gazed dreamily before 


margakethe’s first trial. 


55 


her, still strangely excited by the memory of a 
pleasure so unusual as a ride in a carriage. Leo 
watched her earnestly a few moments, and then 
asked : “ So you enjoyed the drive?” 

“ Yes, Leo, very much. It is delightful to get 
to a place without any effort, to sit up among the 
soft cushions and be able to gaze so far around 
you on every side, see towers and trees approach 
and disappear, and feel the fresh air blowing in 
your face.” 

“ Then you would like to drive often, Gretchen ? ” 

“ Often ? Oh, yes. But if you ask me whether I 
should prefer to be compelled always to ride or 
always to walk, I should choose the latter.” 

“ Why, Margarethe ? ” 

“ Because we lose so many beautiful things when 
we rush by them so rapidly and noisily. A night- 
ingale was singing in a garden near M , but 

I could scarcely hear a note on account of the 
rattling of the wheels. Yesterday morning I saw 
a quantity of forget-me-nots growing by the wooden 
bridge at the mill ; I intended to gather them on 
my way home to make a wreath for my picture of 
the Virgin — it is Mary’s month — but I was obliged 
to leave them when we passed the spot. I was 
very sorry, and I must say though I should like very 
well to ride sometimes, I should far, far more often, 
prefer to walk on my own feet.” 

“ Dear Margarethe,” said Leo softly, as he gently 
stroked her soft, wavy hair, whose glossy wealth 


66 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


floated down beneath her little red calico cap. His 
dark, eloquent eyes rested upon her calm face with 
an expression of the most ardent affection, as he 
continued : “ Dear Margarethe ! would to God I 

might be permitted to gratify all your little inno- 
cent wishes. But who can tell what this approach- 
ing separation may bring us ? ” 

“Separation?” she interrupted breathlessly. 
Are you speaking of another longer separation than 
the absence of a few weeks ? ” 

“Yes, Margarethe,” he answered sadly, “ I must 
go to England to spend at least two years ; I cannot 
see you while there, and we shall be separated 
from each other during all that time.” 

“ Separated from each other ! ” faltered the young 
girl, turning away — alas, not to look at the finches 
on the birch trees. Leo called her repeatedly by 
name; she turned towards him, but without rais- 
ing her downcast eyes. But an instant before, hei 
face had been a picture of bright repose ; now it 
was quivering with the reflection of her first great 
sorrow, battling with a violent but perfectly useless 
effort to appear calm. 

“Do* not grieve, Margarethe,” continued Leo. 
“These two years will certainly be hard for us, 
but then we shall meet again and be happy — far 
happier than now.” 

“ Who can tell, Leo ? ” You say yourself, who 
knows.” 

“Ah ! my dear Margarethe,” replied the young 


margakethe’s first trial. 


57 


man with forced calmness, “ tliat will depend 
entirely upon you. If you do not forget me, if you 
remain as good and gentle, and live as retired a 
life as you do now, we shall certainly meet again 
with joy.” 

“I don’t understand you, Leo. How could I 
ever change or forget you ?” 

“ I do not fear it, child, but others think it might 
be so. Therefore you must promise me to avoid 
the peasant girls and lads whom you meet on your 
way to church, as much as possible, and spend 
your time with dost, his daughter Katliariiie, who 
is a worthy, quiet woman, and little Anne at 
Nordliecke.” 

“ I promise.” 

“ I will send books which you can understand, 
and from which you will learn many tilings. Will 
you read them as often and as much as you can ? ” 

“I will do .so gladly.” 

“ Another thing, my dear Margarethe ; you must 
not go to the market town again with dost; I will 
speak to your foster-father about it; now you have 
grown so tall, it is not proper for you to do so.” 

“No, Leo; but — but — ” 

“Did you wish to ask me anything?” 

“ Why must you go to England? ” 

“ My father wishes it.” 

“Then of course you must obey him. But why 
must you remain there such a long, such a terribly 


68 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


long time ? Will it not be sad for your father to 
be parted from you so long ? ” 

“Certainly; but he thinks the journey necessary 
for my future advantage.” 

“ Good* Heavens I I can’t understand it. What 
are you to do in England ? ” 

“ You cannot understand it all, therefore try to 
console yourself by the thought that, in taking 
this journey, I am obeying my father’s positive 
commands. Yet perhaps you can understand that 
I am going to England to perfect my knowledge 
of manufactures.” 

“Yes, I understand that,” said Margarethe with 
an expression of joy ; for to the grief of parting 
with her best friend was added the painful feeling 
of total ignorance of the reason for this step, which 
seemed to cost him so much self-denial. “ I under- 
stand that ; for you have already told me so much 
about these wise, clever Englishmen, their huge 
ships, their restless activity, and their numerous 
manufactures.” 

“And you have been a good scholar, and re- 
membered it all very well. What a treasure of 
learning you will possess when I come back, and 
when you have read again and again the books I 
shall send you. Only, amid all your knowledge, 
don’t forget your first teacher, — Leo.” 

“How can I do that? Will not every word I 
read remind me of you, to whom I owe the art, 
who gave me books to practice it? Would this 


margarethe’s first trial. 


59 


miserable spot of ground ever liave been a garden, 
without the toil and industry j’ou bestowed upon 
it? Who planted that tree, those flowers? From 
whom came the pictures on the walls of my room^ 
and the book from which I pray ? Oli ! Leo, Leo, 
what should I be without you, and what will be- 
come of me if you leave me these long, long 
years?” 

She burst into tears ; tears rare to this child of 
nature, who, satisfied with the few and simple 
pleasures her lot afforded, hardly knew the names 
of care and sorrow. But now they came with 
overpowering violence, the young girl sobbed 
bitterly and inconsolably. This grief surprised 
Leo, who had scarcely seen her weep since her 
earliest childliood, and vainly he sought for some 
means of consolation. After a time, however, she 
checked her tears ; in a strong, artless mind tht^re 
is no desire for pain, no sickly longing to appear 
the heroine of a tragedy ; the instinctive desire for 
happiness, inherent in every human soul, asserts 
its power most strongly in the purest natures, 
Avhich, before they yield to sorrow, bravely strug. 
gle to rob it of its sharpest sting. 

Margarethe rose, dried her tears, and said Avitli 
unexpected firmness : “ You must obey your father, 
Leo ; it is your duty. Since, for your future Avelfare, 
he is willing to make the sacrifice of parting with you 
for so long a time, it Avould be ungr-ateful if you 
did not make it easy for him by cheerful obedience, 


60 


NOT IN THEIK SET. 


and I should be guilty of worse than ingratitude 
if I allowed myself to make your heart heavy, 

I will not do that; besides, it won’t be quite so bad 
as I thought at first. Although England is so far 
away, and the ocean divides it from our native 
country as you have shown me, ships and letters 
pass from land to land. I shall often hear from 
you, Leo, very often while you are away, shall I 
not ? ” As he maintained a sorrowful silence, she 
again asked half confidently, half impatiently: 
“Shall I not?” 

“No, my poor child;” replied Leo with a deep 
sigh, “ it cannot be, I can send you no messengers.” 

“ Of course you can’t,” she answered, trying to 
smile. “I didn’t mean that you were to send 
messengers ; but you can certainly write letters.” 

“ Alas ! I have been compelled to promise my 
father to write to no one but himself and my 
brother,” he whispered in a faltering voice. 

“ Did your father wish this ? ” she asked, turning 
pale. 

“ Yes, he demanded it.” 

“ Oh ! that is very hard, hard and bitter for 
me ! ” she clasped her hands over her eyes. 

“ Margarethe,” said Leo soothingly, “ is it not 
equally hard for me to receive no letters from you ? 
I cannot do that either.” 

“ No, no ! it is not so bad. What could I write 
to you! Why should you be anxious about me? 
Nothing ever happens to me, and I shall not be 


makgaretiie’s first trial. 


61 


sick ; I am always well. What should I have to 
tell ? Wliat I am doing, and hoAV I toil to learn 
something for love of you, you already know. 
And how the moorland looks at this and that 
season of tlie year, by day and by night, you can 
always imagine; for you are as familiar with it as 
I — But you, you! How shall I know whether 
there was not a storm upon the ocean when you 
crossed it ? And may not the foggy air of that 
foreign land make you ill ? may not care and vexa- 
tion come upon you among strangers? And I 
shall know nothing of it, neither your joys or 
sorrows, life or death. Oh! how can your father 
be so merciless ! ” 

“ Gretchen, he does not know that it grieves you 
thus, and he wishes me to devote myself solely and 
entirely to the object for which I make the journey.” 

“ It must be a very important object — far more 
important than I can understand. But he who 
requires all this of you is your father ; you must 
yield to his wishes in everything that is right — I 
understand that, I must try to reconcile myself to 
it, and I will. Alas ! my only comfort will be in 
thinking of you and praying for you.” 

While Margarethe, in her struggle with the frst 
deep sorrow she had ever known, was thus betray- 
ing her innocent heart to her young protector, he 
was striving with far less pure, more bitter feelings. 
“ Why does my father separate me so pitilessly 
fiom this sweet child ? ” he ^aid to himself. ‘‘ Why 


62 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


will he not leave me to take care of my own happi- 
ness? Where could I find a fairer future than by 
the side of this pure-hearted, lovely creature? 
Very well, I will yield to his wishes now, but when 
I return from England — ” 

Margarethe’s exclamation, there comes father 
Jost,” interrupted this train of thought. Both 
rose and went forward to meet the old man. 

“Good evening,” cried the broom-maker, who 
was evidently in a good-humor. “ Here I am, and 
the old wheelbarrow too ; but we’ll soon take it to 

M with another load. What do you say to 

that, Gretchen ? Didn’t you have a splendid ride 
yesterday, sitting upon the high seat in that car- 
riage ? ” 

“ Yes, father, it was very pleasant.” 

“Very pleasant? and she pipes it out like a sick 
bird! You have red eyes, too. What’s the mat- 
ter, Grete ? has your mother been cross ? ” 

“ Mother hasn’t returned from B yet ; she 

has probably stopped at Katharine’s.” 

“ Deuce take it, wliat has happened then? 
You’ve been crying, and that’s something you 
haven’t done for years. I hope you haven’t been 
hurting my Grete’s feelings, sir.” 

“ And yet that is just what I have done, dost, 
although sorely against my will.” 

dost looked fairl)’^ stupefied. He stared steadily 
at Leo, pushed his woolen cap over one ear, and 
scratched the otlier. 


margakethe’s first trial. 63 

“ I will tell you about it, Jost, to rouse you from 
your dream,” continued Leo. “ I must leave the 
country for two years in order to obtain a thorough 
knowledge of business ; my father wishes it, so I 
came here to take leave of you and Margarethe ; 
that is why she is so sad.” 

“And no wonder,” said Jost Avith a very down- 
cast mein. “ You Avere her playmate Avhen she Avas 
little, and like a brother as she grew older. She 
has wandered OA^er the moor and studied Avith you. 
If Ann’-Trine was cross you comforted her, and if 
I told her a funny story you helped her laugh at 
it. And now all this must be over. I’m sorry for 
the poor child and for myself.” 

“ Why, it isn’t over forever, Jost. Don’t make 
the child’s heart heavier than is necessary. I shall 
return in two years, and then — ” 

“No sir,” interrupted the broom-maker, shaking 
his head ; “ you Avon’t come back.” 

“ For heaven’s sake, father,” cried Margarethe ; 
“do you think he will die on the journey?” 

“No, no, child, not that; God forbid. With 
His aid he will come home from the foreign country. 

Yes, yes, he Avill come back to D to his father’s 

house, — but he won’t find the road to the moorland 
again, depend upon it.” 

“ You are mistaken, Jost ! ” exclaimed Leo 
angrily ; and almost in the same breath, Margar- 
ethe asked : “ Why not, father? ” 

“ Because during all that long time he’ll forget 


04 


NOT IN TIIEIE SET. 


it, and learn to go over other paths he’ll like 
better. Yes, young master, that’s the way it will 
be, though yon don’t believe it now. But your 
father, who knows the world and men, better than 
you, foresees it, and is very well satisfied. That’s 
the very reason he sends you to England.” 

“ What put such ideas into your head, dost? ” 

“Haven’t I hit it about right? I can’t blame 
your father either. Everybody in the world be- 
longs to the spot which Our Lord has assigned to 
him ; I and my family belong out here on the 
moorland among the juniper bushes and heather; 
but it is not tit for you. Your place is in your 
father’s office, or the elegant rooms in his house.; 
but you have been running out to the moor so 
often that tlie old gentleman is afraid you will stay 
here altogether ; that’s why he sends you away so 
far, and bids you stay so long that you won’t find 
the way here any more.” 

“You are mistaken, dost,” repeated Leo, but 
more calmly than before. “ Come into the house a 
moment, I want to speak to you ; Margarethe, wart 
here until we return ; you will go with me as far 
as tlie beech tree ? ” 

She nodded an assent, and Leo went into the 
hut with dost. He urged the old peasant most 
earnestly to take every care of Margarethe, and 
gave him a large sum of ready money, that in the 
absence of her young guardian, he might be able 
to supply all the little wants for which Leo had 


margaeethe’s first trial. 


65 


hitherto provided ; then he took an affectionate 
farewell of the old man, and left the house. Mar- 
garethe joined liim, and they walked on to the old 
beech tree in silence. 

When they reached it Leo paused, and held out 
his hand to the young girl with the simple words : 
“Farewell, child; keep well, and pray for me.” 

“ Yes, Leo ; night and day.” 

“I thank you; and now — may God watch over 
you ! ” he warmly pressed the trembling hand that 
lay heavily in his own, then let it fall and strode 
hastily along the path towards home, without cast- 
ing another glance at the young girl. The parting 
was over; he would not make it more painful for 
her. But Margaretlie stood still gazing after 
him until he disappeared in the distance. 

Then she broke down and crouched under the 
tree for a long time, sobbing bitterly, until by the 
last flint glimmer of the fading twilight she saw 
tlic figure of a peasant woman coming across the 
moor. It was Ann’-Trine, and Margarethe rose, 
hurried back to tlie house to avoid her questions, 
and locked herself into her room, where she re- 
mained late into the night, kneeling before the 
picture of the Virgin ivliich that very morning, in 
such a happy mood, she had adorned witli the 
fairest flowers. She no longer wept, but in the 
dim light of tlie summer night gazed at the picture 
with swollen eyes, murmuring at intervals : “ Oh ! 
pitying mother, pray for us.” 


60 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


CHAPTER V. 

A DYING woman’s SECRET. 

The gas had not yet displaced the old oil lamps, 
which were trembling on their lofty posts under 
the rude assaults of a violent gale, and casting a 
very wavering, unsteady light over the deserted 
streets. Only a few dark forms glided by, hurry- 
ing to reach their homes as soon as possible ; for 
who, in such Aveather, would remain out a moment 
longer than Avas necessary. But the storm still 
raged on in its former Avild Avrath, and committed 
all sorts of damages. 

In one house standing on a Avide street on the 
other side of the church, its rage was unheeded • 
another power Avas present : death Avas performing 
its work, quietly commenced, but now surely 
though sloAvly approaching completion. Poor 
Helene’s mother was lying on her deathbed, Avith 
her husband and brother beside her. In the 
anxious suspense with which they listened to the 
invalid’s feeble words, they had forgotten the 
howling of the tempest, and did not heed the in- 


A DYING woman’s SECRET. 


67 


creased fuiy with which, after a short pause to 
collect its strength, it had again risen. Tlie eyes 
of the two gentlemen were fixed intently upon the 
sunken features of the dying woman, who was 
speaking in faint, weary accents of a secret which 
duty and conscience alike forbade her to conceal. 

“ Do you remember the day you came to Helene’s 
funeral, Adolph ? ” she said to her brother. 

“ How could I forget it ? It was in the Autumn, 
and as dark and stormy a day as this has been. 
But you ought not to recall the memory of such 
painful scenes, dear Sophie.” 

“ Why not, Adolpli ? They have no longer any 
shadow ot grief for me, for with God’s blessing, I 
shall soon be re-united to my lost child. Yet I 
did not wish to speak of my feelings at that time, 
but of your words. Do you remember them, 
brother ? ” 

“ Not distinctly, Sophie. I undoubtedly spoke 
of the dear child’s lovable qualities and our grief 
at her loss; but I cannot recall the precise ex- 
pressions I used.” 

“ But they remain firmly fixed in my memory, 
for they pierced my soul like a two-edged sword.” 

“ Good Heavens, sister, what could I have said 
to wound you so deeply ? ” 

The sick woman, with a great effort, turned her 
head towards her husband and asked : “ are we 
alone?” 

“Yes, entirely alone, dear Sophie; you desired 


68 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


even our sons to leave the room because you 
wished to speak to Adolph and me in private.” 

“ Alas ! it must be told ; yes, it must be ! 
Adolph said : ‘ It would be such a consolation to 

you and all of us if she had been spared long 
enough to marry and leave a child.’ His conclud- 
ing words were: ‘Alas! that she must die un- 
married.’ ” 

“Yes,” replied her brother, deeply agitated, “I 
now remember perfectly both your words and 
mine. You repeated in a tone full of despair : 
‘ yes, she died unmarried.’ ” 

“ I said so,” stammered the sick woman ; “ and 
I said it despairingly because Helene did not die 
childless — she left a dauschter.” 

“ Poor Sophie,” said the Regierungsrath, bend- 
ing over her anxiously, “ her mind is wandering.” 

“ Ko, replied her brother who had been watch- 
ing her intently, “ she seems to be fully conscious 
of what she is saying.” 

“It is as you say, Adolph,” continued the 
invalid, “ we have a granddaughter.” 

“ Dear child,” said her husband, greatly alarmed ; 
“recollect yourself. We have three grand- 
daughters and two grandsons.” 

“ You are speaking of our son’s children ; but I 
was not thinking of them. I spoke of my poor 
Helene’s daughter.” 

“ Dear Sophie, do not torture yourself and me 


A DYING woman’s SECRET. 


69 


with such fancies. Helene was not married ; how 
could she have left a child ? ” 

My mind is not wandering,” replied the dying 
woman solemnly; “I assure you by all that is 
sacred — she had a child. It is still living, and I 
claim your care, Carl, your protection, Adolph, 
for the poor, forsaken creature.” 

“ It is impossible, it cannot be ! ” exclaimed the 
Regierungsrath. 

“I fear you are mistaken, Carl, I cannot help 
believing it. But in Heaven’s name, Sophie, why 
have you kept this secret so long?” 

“ Ah ! ” moaned the invalid almost unintelligebly, 
“ Helene was afraid of her father, and I, too, feared 
his pride and anger. The unfortunate cliild con- 
fided her desperate situation to me; I aided her 
to conceal the consequences of her false step — her 
shame and misery. Through Lisette, I provided 
for the child.” 

“ Poor child ! alas, poor child ! ” compassionately 
murmured the dying woman’s brother. But the 
husband started up, and strode hurriedly up and 
down the room. At last he approached the bed 
and said in a hollow tone : “ Wife, how you have 
deceived me! Yet why are you now so cruel as 
not to play your part to the end ? Why did you 
not take this hideous secret with you to the grave, 
instead of robbing me of the blissful illusion that I 
might mourn for my dead daughter, and not curse 
her?” 


70 


NOT IN THEIK SET. 


“ Oh ! Carl, Carl, be merciful,” stammered the 
dying woman, and her brother added with re- 
proachful earnestness : “ Lorsberg, you are justify- 
ing the fears of your unhappy wife.” 

The wretched man was about to yield to an out- 
burst of passion; but as he turned towards his 
brother-in-law, his eyes fell upon the dying woman, 
and he was silenced by the presence of the long- 
dreaded, terrible moment ; for a great change had 
taken place in the invalid. Lorsberg could not 
conceal from himseif that her life was now num- 
bered by minutes. The same warning was evident 
to her brother, and his kind heart quailed at the 
thought that his sister’s agonizing confession had 
perhaps been made in vain, and her strength would 
fail before she had given any farther particulars 
about the deserted child, the surroundings amid 
which it had lived, and the name it bore. His 
fears were not groundless ; the dying woman could 
only gasp : “ Lisette — Lisette — knows — all Then 
her strength rapidly failed, her reason wandered, 
and when at midnight the tempest beat against the 
window panes with renewed violence, her spirit 
returned to the hands of its Creator. 

Lisette, who had been Lorsberg’s housekeeper 
for many years, was familiar with all the particu- 
lars, and ready to furnish the most exact informa- 
tion. She named the child’s father, the place 
where it was born, the pastor who cliristened it, 
and had documents verifying the whole stoi*y, 


A DYING woman’s SECRET. 


71 


which she willingly entrusted to her dead mistress’ 
brother. She herself had visited the child in the 
rude asylum where it was concealed, at first 
monthly, then every two, and at last every three 
months, always under the pretext that she was 
looking after her sister’s orphaned child, who lived 
in a little village only a short distance from Jost’s 
cottage. The foster mother of Lisette’s niece had 
also nursed Helene’s child during the first year of 
its life, and had then taken it to the broom-maker’s. 

These inquiries had been made by Justizrath 
Greven, the brother of Lorsberg’s dead wife, while 
the latter sat in silence with his face hidden in his 
hands. Lisette was undecided whether grief for 
the heavy loss he had sustained, sorrow for the 
fate of his unhappy daughter, or indignation at the 
disgrace she had brought upon his name, had the 
greatest share in the gloomy mood into which he 
had fallen. Probably all these causes combined to 
foster a bitterness in the proud man’s soul, which was 
thenceforward to rule his whole nature, to his own 
torment and the sorrow of all who surrounded him. 

After Lisette had related all she knew, and been 
dismissed, the two gentlemen remained for a long 
time sitting opposite to each other in ojjpressive 
silence; for the Justizrath thought he ought to 
leave the first words in relation to an event which 
80 nearly concerned him, to the grandfather of the 
child whose existence they had learned so un- 
expectedly. 


12 


NOT IN THEIE SET. 


Lorsberg would not be the first to introduce the 
subject ; he looked upon the affair in no other light 
than that of a deadly insult. There was far more 
anger than love in his thoughts of his scarcely 
dead wife and long departed daughter, and it a 
faint feeling of compassion for the dead stirred his 
heart, it was far too vague and powerless to be 
able to lessen the bitterness with which he thought 
of both. 

After a long, painful pause, Greven at last asked : 
‘‘ What decision have you made about this lament- 
able affair, Lorsberg ? ” 

These words tore the outer veil of apparent 
calmness from the gloomy sufferer; but if the 
former lull in the storm had been uncanny, the 
furious outburst of the tempest was still more 
terrible. “Decision,” he exclaimed, raising his 
deeply flushed face with its flashing eyes and the 
swollen veins protruding upon the high forehead, 
towards his questioner, “what have I to decide? 
The disgraceful business does not concern me ; my 
wife and her kindred have brought shame upon 
my honorable name — I renounce them forever.” 

Greven calmly rose and approached the furious 
man. “I can pardon much, in consideration of 
your surprise and grief,” said he, “ but I will not 
suffer you to slander my dead sister so unjustly. 
Sophie was always a true, faithful wife, and if a 
stain has unhappily fallen upon Helene, she was 
your daughter as well as hers.” 


A DYING woman’s SECRET. 73 

This remark, undeniable as it was, only served 
to increase the fury of the Regierungsrath. 

“ Silence,” he shrieked, striking the table with 
his clenched hand. “ Had your sister fulfilled her 
duties as a mother, it could never have gone so 
far.” 

“You are unjust, Lorsberg, because you are 
determined to be so,” replied Greven sternly. 
“ Sophie did before Helene’s unhappy, false step, 
what we have done since: trusted in the purity 
and virtue of her child.” 

“ That is precisely where she did wrong,” cried 
the obstinate Lorsberg. “ One who is answerable 
for anything, should rely upon nothing but his own 
knowledge.” 

“ It is not in the nature of pure, gentle hearts to 
be suspicious; that is a trait which belongs to 
stern, morose characters — but this discussion is 
useless; after the manner in which, beside my 
sister’s scarcely lifeless body you have spoken of 
her and her kindred, the sooner we part the better.’’ 

“ I will not detain you,” said Lorsberg, in a 
cold, bitter tone. 

“ I understand you ; but before I leave you, I 
have a duty to fulfil. My sister entrusted the 
care of Helene’s child to me as well as to you ; I 
must therefore ask a clear, plain answer to the 
question : how and in what manner will you share 
the charge ? ” 

“ I shall not trouble myself about the child in 


74 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


any way,” replied Lorsberg, turning towards his 
brother-in-law with a gesture that was almost 
insulting. 

“ Heartless and cruel as this decision is,” said 
Greven, “ I hail it as a favor ; I shall henceforward 
assume alone the duties, and with them the rights 
of a father towards Helene’s child.” 

“But do not venture to give the — to give it my 
name ! ” raved the Regierungsrath. 

“ I shall give it my own,” replied Greven, and 
went into the next room, where his sister’s body lay. 

Lorsberg looked after him angrily for a moment, 
then threw himself into a chair, again buried his 
face in his hands, and remained in this attitude 
during the remainder of the night, a prey to the 
bitterest, most painful emotions. When, in the 
grey dawn, the storm lulled at last, and a bright, 
sunny. Autumn morning succeeded the wild, 
gloomy night, the unhappy man rose ; but no 
peace followed the conflict in his heart ; on the 
contrary, he had allowed a dark, evil resolution to 
mature — the resolution to revenge himself upon 
the destroyer of his domestic happiness, the thief 
of his honor. 

Greven went from his sister’s corpse to the 
housekeeper’s room to consult with her once more, 
and then left his brother-in-law’s house, never to 
enter it again. He too had formed resolutions 
but they were gentle, kindly ones, which would 
bring a blessing on himself and others. 


ONE OF MARGAEETHE’s FRIENDS. 


15 


CHAPTER VI. 

ONE OF MARGARETHE’s FRIENDS. 

In the “Pearl of Days,” the Scotch gardener’s 
daugliter speaks very charmingly of the advantages 
which Sunday, apart from its influence on the soul 
and mind, lias in regard to the bodily wants of the 
lower classes of society. She does not allude to 
this so much in respect to the rest from hard labor 
which the holy day bestows, but rather to the 
preparations for a quiet, undisturbed solemnization 
of it, which are made the evening before. Any 
one who is familiar with the lives and labor, the 
•are and toil of the poor, will instantly and joy- 
fully agree with her. As a proof of this we will 
take the reader to the dwelling of lame Anna of 
Nordhecke, of whom Leo had spoken during his 
farewell visit to Margarethe, with the request that 
in his absence, his little friend would confine her- 
self to her society. 

Anna of Nordhecke, poor as she was, felt her- 
self a personage of some importance in consequence 
of owning a farm. True, her whole estate con- 


76 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


sisted only of a miserable little house with walls, 
which in many places, would have been greatly 
improved by laths and plaster. It was shaded in 
front by a row of six tall birch trees which Anna 
proudly called her “avenue,” and a slender poplar 
stood at the stable door beside the little garden, 
whose black thorn hedge was not very thriving. 
In this garden was a clumj) of lilacs, a stunted 
apple tree, and an old pear tree, which never bore 
any fruit, but which was nevertheless a source of 
great satisfaction to the mistress of the garden. 
It was very tall and blossomed every year ; when 
it did so no longer, Anna meant to have a hand- 
some chest made of its tolerably large trunk. Be- 
sides this there were a few acres of sandy soil 
belonging to the little house, and the right to 
pasture a cow on the moor. With all these pos- 
sessions little Anna considered herself peculiarly 
favored by fortune. 

She would surely have been half starved if, with 
her lame hip, she had depended solely upon her 
farm for support; but this very infirmity had 
opened to her another means of support in addition 
to the income from her landed property. Her 
bodily weakness had warned her parents whose 
only child she was, that they would be unable to 
find a husband for the young girl, in spite of her 
property, and tliey were right ; for who would have 
been foolish enough to take a wife wdio would never 
be able to attend to her duties in field or barn ? For 


ONE OP MAEGAEETHE’s FRIENDS. 

this reason they allowed their daughter to learn 
the trade of a “ milliner.” Skilful and clever by 
nature, she soon became so familiar with such 
work that she was quite a celebrity in her little 
circle. True, her art consisted wholly in making 
new caps for the peasant women and their daugh- 
ters, or washing and ironing the old ones ; but she 
knew how to crimp the edges so daintily, and 
arrange the stiff little bows so gracefully, that 
nobody could compare with her. When, in the 
course of time, her parents died, she took a maid- 
servant to attend to her house and plot of ground, 
sold all her cows but one, and put the money into 
trade.” True, her whole stock of goods con- 
sisted merely of a chest full of the cheapest articles, 
gay neck and pocket handkerchiefs, remnants of 
calico for caps or aprons, ribbons, thread, needles, 
shoe-strings, buttons, and similar trifles. But the 
very cheapness and usefulness of these things 
secured the shopkeeper a speedy sale. One might 
have supposed that the out-of-the-way little house 
which stood on the edge of the moorland like the 
last offshoot of the inhabited region, would rarely 
have tempted a buyer, but little Anna did not lack 
customers. The peasant women and girls were 
obliged to come to her for their caps, and once 
there, found it very pleasant to trade with good- 
humored little Anna, who rarely dismissed a cus- 
tomer without a jest, and was never impatient, no 
matter how long they considered and reflected. 


18 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


Besides, what did the country people care for 
going a few steps out of their way across the 
moor? All these causes combined to make the 
little business as active as possible. 

During the past year, her gains had been largely 
increased by taking Margarethe as a pupil. When 
the child left the village school, Lisette made 
arrangements for her to go to lame Anna every 
afternoon, to receive instruction in all the little arts 
the latter possessed. Perhaps she was induced to 
take this course in the hope of securing some future 
means of support to the young girl, perhaps by the 
compassionate desire not to see Helene’s poor 
child wholly condemned to the rough, coarse toil 
of a day laborer; at any rate, the plan was a bene- 
fit to Margarethe. 

Thus it hapi^ened that one Saturday afternoon 
towards the end of Autumn, Margarethe found 
herself in the cottage of little Anna of Nordhecke, 
for so the property was called. The landscape 
without was as cold and cheerless as only Novem- 
ber can show ; an icy rain, which seemed about 
to change into snow, rattled against the windows, 
and the fading twilight still showed the heavy 
masses of grey clouds shaped into weird forms 
by the wind, driven in wild confusion across tlie 
sky. At this hour the weather displayed all possi- 
ble bad qualities ; it was gloomy, stormy, wet and 
cold. And besides this, there lay the wide, gloomy, 
desolate moor; in short, it was terrible out of 


ONI5 OF MARGAKETHe’s FRIENDS. 19 

doors — woe to the unlucky wight who is not under 
shelter at such a time ! 

But how cosy and homelike it was in Anna’s 
little room. The household Avork and Sunday 
preparations were almost finished. True, old 
Mieke Avas still in the barn milking the cow and 
giving her sone fresh straAv ; but this was the last 
of her duties except getting supper, which was 
rather a pleasure than a task. 

The carefully swept floor was sprinkled with 
fine, Avhite sand ; the water Avas singing in the 
polished copper kettle on the cooking stove, Avhich 
diifused a comfortable heat ; the tin platters and 
bright china plates glittered on the shelves on the 
wall in the double light of the lamp Avhich burned 
on the table, and a smaller one that stood in the 
corner before the image of the Madonna — Saturday 
is specially consecrated to the Holy Virgin. — In 
another corner Avas the huge, four-post bedstead 
with its flowered hangings, and at the head ticked 
the faithful Black Forest clock, which through 
many years had unweariedly noted sad as well as 
joyful hours. 

Anna and Margarethe sat at the table opposite 
each other, each busied in finishing a cap Avhich 
Avas to be delivered to its OAvner on her Avay to 
churcli on the morrow. Both had a piece of knit- 
ting Avork lying beside them, and were rejoicing in 
the speedy approach of the moment Avhen they 
could take it up. 


80 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


Anna did not look like a peasant woman ; her 
dress was so carefully arranged and so perfectly 
neat, that it almost seemed to raise her a little 
above her station. She had a somewhat pale, sen- 
sible face, large, bright eyes with an unmistakable 
expression of kindness and gentleness, and the 
lines of pain Avhich usually disfigure those afilicted 
with a bodily deformity, were scarcely perceptible 
in her countenance. 

She was the first to finish her cap, which she 
placed carefully in a bandbox, and then before 
taking up her knitting Avork gazed silently and 
inquiringly at her- young companion. But the 
longer she looked at the poor child’s doAvncast 
brow, the more troubled her own face became. It 
is true that during the course of nearly fifty years 
she had not become familiar with any heavy mis- 
fortune, any deep, passionate sorrow, and she had 
'equally failed to know any great happiness or 
pleasure, but she had had parents v/hom she had 
watched and tended, and a home which she loved — 
for the simple reason that it was her own, and that 
in it were confined all her little Avishes, cares, and 
labors. This Avas Avhy her naturally gentle spirit 
united to her contented mind, and gratitude for 
Avhat she called her good-foitune and happiness, 
had preserved her from becoming cold and indiffer- 
ent to other’s griefs. 

“ Margarethe,” she said at last in a Ioav tone. 
The young girl started, and replied as if to excuse 


ONE OF MAEGARETHE’s FRIENDS. 81 

herself: “The cap will be ready in time; I have 
almost finished it, Annchen.” 

“ Give it to me ; I will soon finish it ; we can 
talk better when it is put away in the bandbox.” 

Margarethe gave her the work, and took up her 
knitting. As with a faint sigh she slowly began 
to unroll it, it seemed as if her thoughts were very 
far from her occupation. 

The second cap soon lay in the bandbox, and 
Anna also began to set her needles in motion, say- 
ing at the same time: “What has happened to 
you, Gretchen? you don’t look well, and you don’t 
talk half as much as usual.” 

“ Nothing has happened, Annchen ; I’m not sick, 
and I haven’t lost or broken anything for which 
mother Ann’Trine can scold me.” 

“Well, but there are other things to happen; 
one need not lose or break anything, and some- 
thing has happened to you. I’ll stick to that. It 
isn’t for nothing that you look as pale as the trunks 
of the birch trees in the avenue, and keep as quiet 
as a greenfinch in winter.” 

“ Really and truly nothing has happened to me ; 
it is somebody else. I don’t see how you dis- 
covered it, Annchen.” 

“Somebody else?” asked Anna earnestly. 
“Who is this somebody, child?” 

“ I don’t think you know him ; oh, yes — now I 
remember — he once came here with me.” 

“ Why, whom are you talking about ? ” 


82 


NOT IN TilElB SET. 


“ I am speaking of Leo — Leo Berger, who used 
to come to the moor to play with me so often.” 
As she pronounced the name, her eyes filled with 
tears which she put up her little brown hand to 
conceal. Anna sat in silence for a few moments, 
looking anxiously at the weeping girl, for she 
could not understand what misfortune had befallen 
Leo. At last she asked : “ So something has 
happened to him? I am sorry; but still, thank 
God, it isn’t as bad as if it had happened to you.” 

“ Oh ! yes, yes,” stammered Margarethe, deeply 
agitated, “ it is quite as bad.” 

“ But what is it, child, and how does it concern 
you ? ” 

“ Ah ! Annchen, I don’t think you can understand 
how it concerns me.” 

“ Why can’t I understand it, Gretchen ? you 
know I am not so veiy stupid. Put your trouble 
into words, then I will tell you what part of the 
afiair I understand, and what not. What is the 
matter with Herr Berger ? ” 

‘‘ Herr Berger ? ” asked Margarethe, in unmistak- 
able amazement. 

“Why yes — is the girl crazy? You just said 
yourself — ” 

“ I was speaking of Leo, not Herr Berger.” 

“ Good gracious, who is Leo but Herr Berger ? 
If you have been foolish enough to keep on calling 
him Leo as if he were a little boy, everybody else 
lias paid him due respect and spoken of him by his 


ONE OF MARGARETHe’s FRIENDS. 


83 


proper name long ago. But pray tell me at last : 
wliat is the matter with him ? ” 

‘‘Ah! Annchen, he has gone to England, and 
will be obliged to stay there two or three years.” 

“Is that all?” 

“ Yes ; but I think it is bad enough.” 

“Well, I must say, I thought you were more 
sensible, Grete. Does the girl call it a misfortune 
when people travel in foreign countries for 
pleasure.” 

“ But he didn’t go for pleasure, Annchen ; he 
did not want to go, and was very sad the last time 
he came to the moor.” 

Anna looked Margarethe sharply in the eyes, 
and then said: “You probably cried, and that 
made him feel sad ; but depend upon it he was 
very willing to go, or else he would undoubtedly 
have stayed at home.” 

“ But I know that he went unwillingly. He was 
obliged to go ; his father insisted upon it.” 

“ Ah ! — his father insisted. Why so ? ” 

“He was to learn to be a merchant in England, ” 
replied Margarethe with a certain pride in the — as 
she thought — aristocratic calling of her young 
friend. “ There is no place in the whole world where 
people understand such things as well as in England.” 

“If that’s so, I don’t see any reason why he 
wasn’t willing to go there. If he was sensible, he 
would rejoice that his father was willing to spend 
the money to send him to England ; for I can tell 


84 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


you there is nothing so extravagantly dear as 
traveling. Really, I should have thought the 
young gentleman had a wiser head. I once "went 
to Keveljer, and although I took a quantity of 
provisions with me, it cost — you won’t believe me 
— the journey in all cost nearly three rix dollars.” 

“ I fully believe it, Annchen. But Leo was not 
exactly unwilling to go to England, he was only 
not willing to leave Aere.” 

“ Oh, is that it ? that’s nothing, it will soon be 
over. When he has been away a few months, he’ll 
forget all he left behind except his father and 
brother. They will write to him, but he’ll soon 
forget everybody else.” 

“ Oh ! do you think so too ? ” asked Margarethe, 
large tears slowly welling into her eyes. “ Father 
J ost says the same thing, but I — I won’t believe it. 
No, I will i)ot and cannot believe that he will for- 
get everything here, even though he should stay 
away a hundred years.” 

“ So you won’t and canH believe it ? ” asked 
Annchen slqwly. “You mean you don’t toesA to ; 
for why shouldn’t you be able to believe what 
others, who are so much wiser and older, tell you ? ” 

“But it is true, Annchen — I cannot. I have 
tried to put more faith in father .Jost’s words than 
my own thoughts, but whenever I do so, something 
stirs in my heart which makes me feel as if I were 
suffocating.” 

“That is very naughty, Grete; it shows how 


ONE OF maegaeethe’s feiends. 85 

obstinate you are. If you were wise, you would 
think of your cap*niaking and your prayer-book, 
instead of one who has already forgotten you.” 

“No indeed, he has not ; and even if he had, I 
would never forget him. Did he not beg me not 
to do so, when he went away ? ” 

“ Even if he did, that does not mean much. It 
is only a way people have when they bid farewell.” 

“ Alas ! Anna, I cannot believe you yet — not 
quite yet. Perhaps I shall do so in time, but then 
1 shall be far more miserable than I am now. Now 
I can still hope that Leo will come back to talk, 
jest, and teach me beautiful things once more, — 
and that some day there will be something brighter 
for mo than this gloomy moor, with father dost 
and his brooms, and mother Ann-’Trine, who is 
always cross.” 

“Well, I am here too,” said Anna, evidently 
wounded. 

“Yes, you are here too, and it is a real blessing 
to me. Leo told me I must stay with Anna of 
Nordhecke as much as I could; he didn’t think 
you would talk so about him.” 

“ Well, well,” replied Anna, instantly appeased; 
“ what harm have I said ? Only I know the world 
better than either of you ; but we’ll say no more 
about it now. Here comes Mieke with the milk ; 
she can bake the pan cakes, while you make the 
coffee, and when we have had our supper, we will 
say the litany before the Virgin, and then go to bed.” 


86 


NOT IN THEIK SET. 


CHAPTER VII. 

MAKGARETHE FINDS AN UNCLE. 

Margarethe usually spent Saturday night at 
Anna’s little house, and did not return to Jost’s 
cottage until the following day after the service at 
church, which she attended with the little milliner. 

To-day as usual, she parted with Anna after 
High Mass, and turned towards home with dost. 

They walked silently along a narrow path 
through the brown heather which had been soaked 
by the rain of the previous night, and across the 
dead garlands of moss, which in many places lay 
across the way. dost was thinking now of the 
sermon, now of the bad beer the inn-keeper sold 
this year, and also trying to search out the places 
where the best heather for broom-makinc: was to 
be found. Engrossed by all these thoughts in 
turn, he paid little attention to Margarethe, espec- 
ially as they were obliged to walk along the nar- 
row path in single file, and the young girl lingered 
a little distance behind, "equally absorbed in her 
own reflections, which were by no means eo calm 


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MARGARETIIE FINDS AN UNCLE. 


87 


as the old man’s. Since Leo’s departure, the eyes 
of her mind had been opened, and she perceived 
the mournful poetry of the utter desolation and 
cheerlessness of her home. Hitherto she had 
always had a quick perception of all the bright 
spots, the few attractions granted to this dreary bit 
of earth, and did not notice the dark side ; but since 
the desolate home had also become a solitary one, 
since her friend, and with him all the pleasures he 
had given her, were taken away for so long a time, 
alas ! perhaps forever, the whole region had as- 
sumed a mournful aspect. She gazed sadly at the 
grey clouds floating slowly over the cold sky, and 
listened to the croaking of a flock of crows, which, 
flapping their wings heavily, were struggling to 
reach the tops of some trees that appeared in the 
distant horizon, or to the murmur of a little dark 
brook that wound through the reeds and rushes at 
her side. Her mood, her feelings, were entirely in 
harmony with the aspect of her surroundings. 

When dost reached the spot where the path 
crossed the highway, he paused and turned to look 
for Margarethe. She hastened forward, and both 
were about to walk on along the broad road, when 
they heard in the distance loud shouts, and the 
rattling of a carriage, and a handsome coach, 
which they had not observed, drove rapidly up 
and stopped near them. 

“I should like to know what that means,” mut- 
tered dost. But there was a still greater source 


88 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


of amazement in store ; for the coachman accosted 
him with: “Halloa! friend, do you know where 
Jost Biesenhiisch, the broom-maker, lives?” 

“"VYell,” replied Jost witli the queer smile, half 
humorous, half crafty, which the peasants call 
Glimmlachen^ “ I think I ought to know.” 

“ Well, deuce take it, why don’t you tell me then ? ” 

"•'Did you ask me?” answered Jost, assuming 
an air ot great simplicity. 

The coachman played with his whip as if he 
would have liked to try it on some other back than 
those of his horses, when the window was suddenly 
let down, and an old gentleman’s face appeared. 

“ What are you chattering about again ? ” he 
asked impatiently. 

“ Why, sir, I told you this morning I didn’t 
know the house, and you know no more about it 
than I do, so I must ask the people to find out.” 

“ But you ask people in such a way that they 
have no inclination to answer you. My good 
friend,” he continued, turning to Jost, “ perhaps 
you know where Jost Biesenbusch, the broom- 
maker, lives ? ” 

Jost, with the same queer smile which induced 
the old gentleman to look at him more closely, 
replied: “To be sure I know, sir; I have already 
told your coachman so.” 

“Then perhaps you will be good enough to show 
us the way there, or if you have not time, give us 
directions for findinor it.” 

O 




MAIIGARETIIE FINDS AN UNCLE. 


89 


*‘ril go with you,” said Jost, “for I must go 
tliere myself.” 

“ You are going there too ? ” 

“Yes, of course I am. Does that astonish you? 
It’s my own house.” 

“ Your own house ? ” 

“Yes, why shouldn’t it be?” asked Jost, now 
perplexed in his turn. “Does that seem very 
Biirprising ? Why shouldn’t it be my house ? ” 
Tlie old gentleman leaned forward again; his 
eyes rested with eager, almost anxious suspense on 
Margaretlie’s face, and he hastily interrupted Jost 
with the question: “And does this young girl 
belong to you ? ” 

“Well, you’re a queer gentleman enough,” said 
Jost, shaking his grey head peevishly. “First 
you won’t believe that my house is my house, and 
now you think Grete don’t belong to me.” 

“ Grete ? ” asked the stranger, and repeated in 
an under tone: “ Margarethe.” Then turning to 
Jost he again asked: “Is she your cliild?” 

“ vVliat does it concern strangers who stop one 
in the middle of the highway, whether slie is my 
child, or a relation, or who she is?” answered Jost 
rud\ily. “When people go to church in this Win- 
ter weather, they like to get home soon and eat 
their honestly earned Sunday cabbage and bit of 
bacon.” So saying, he passed his horny hand 
over his lips as if the thought of the cabbage made 
his mouth water. 


N 


90 NOT IN THEIR SET. 

The stranger, in a grave, earnest tone, replied : 
“Don’t be so hasty, my good friend. If this 
young girl is the Margarethe who was placed in 
your charge by Lisette Wegmann, the matter con- 
cerns me very closely, for I am her uncle. I have 
come here to take her away with me.” 

“God forbid !” exclaimed dost in a dull, hollow 
tone. He was so terrified that he was obliged to 
lean on his cane for support; his knees trembled, 
and he stared at the stranger with mouth and eyes 
wide open. 

Margarethe, too, who from the first moment had 
felt an eager interest in the stranger, probably 
because his refined voice and language reminded 
her of her absent friend, also uttered a low ex- 
clamation of mingled surprise and terror, and in- 
voluntarily seized her foster-father’s arm. 

Despite the coachman’s imprecations on the 
delay, the stranger left the carriage, approached 
Margarethe, held out his hand to her, and said 
gently: “Won’t you come to me, my child?” 

Margarethe liesitated a moment, and gazed at 
him timidly; but his whole appearance inspired 
such a feeling of confidence, that the next moment 
she placed her hand in his, and gazed up into his 
face with an expression of quiet expectation. 

“ What is your name, my child ? ” he asked in 
the same gentle tone. 

“Margarethe Helene Wegmann,” she replied. 


MAllGAKETIIE FINDS AN UNCLE. 91 

2)robably understanding the importance of the 
question; ‘‘kind Jost is my foster father.” 

“ It is slie , it must be,” exclaimed the stranger, 
now greatly agitated. “I beg you, my good man, 
tell me the truth ; is • she really the child whom 
Lisette Wegmaim entrusted to your care fourteen 
years ago?” 

Jost still stood as if utterly bewildered. He 
was so accustomed to Margarethe’s jiresence and 
his intercourse with her, which was as frequent 
and affectionate as it can only be between father 
and daughter, and in his rough way loved the 
young girl so dearly, that the thought of a separa- 
tion had never occurred to him. Thus when the 
idea of such a i^arting came suddenly upon him, 
the thought was so painful that he knew not how 
to make his love of truth coincide with his wishes 
in his rej)ly to the question addressed to him. 

He was silent for a short time, during which he 
pushed his old blue cap from side to side in great 
confusion, then evasively replied : “ I always 

thought she was to stay with me as long as I lived. 
Jost Biesenbusch would always have had a bit of 
bread for her, even if the board money hadn’t been 
paid; and w^hen they at last took me to the 
‘ sexton’s camp,’ I thought she would go to little 
Anna of Hordhecke. There she would have been 
well off until she could perhaps take the shop, and 
then she would have been safe at all events.” 

“You are an honest fellow, Jost, and meant to 


92 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


do well,” replied the stranger. “I do not doubt 
that Margarethe is as dear to you as if she were 
your own child — see, she is giving the best proof 
of it,” he continued, deeply touched, as he motion- 
ed towards Margarethe, who, in her timid con- 
fusion, was pressing close to the side of the faithful 
old man : “ but on that very account, you will not 
desire to stand in the way of the child’s happiness.” 

“God forbid,” replied Jost earnestly. “But 
who is to assure me that you will make her happy, 
sir?” 

“That is a thought which I honor; but this is 
not a suitable place to discuss the matter any 
further; we will drive on to your house. Let 
iVIargarethe come inside with me, and do you sit on 
the box to direct the coachman.” 

The traveler’s proposal was accepted. Jost 
climbed up to the box with a heavy heart, and sat 
down so stiftly and awkwardly that the impatient 
coachman grew still more ill-tempered ; but the 
old man’s thoughts were too earnestly fixed upon 
Margarethe for him to be disturbed about the 
man’s grumbling. Still, when the carriage was 
again in motion, and he found himself ap[)roach- 
ing his home with such unusual comfort, he 
could not help recalling with pleasure the day 
when he had spent his money to drive in a coach 
with Margarethe, .and fancied what Ann’Trine 
would say when he again rode up to the door in 
such an aristocratic style, without any expense. 


MAKGAKETIIE FINDS AN UNCLE. 


93 


The tlioiiglit lured to his face the characteristic 
smile that we have several times noticed, and he 
rubbed his liard hands joyously, though he did not 
succeed in attaining a truly happy frame of mind, 
because the memory of his impending loss oppress- 
ed his heart. 

Meantime Margarethe, flushing and paling by 
turns, sat in great confusion beside her new-found 
relative. Often, when other children had been 
talking of their parents and grandparents, their 
brothers, sisters, and other relatives, the wish had 
arisen in her heart that she too might utter these 
dear names, and have such pleasant ties; and as 
she grew older and obtained a vague idea of the 
nature of her situation, this desire became more 
eager and painful. Yet now, when she was per- 
haps to see it soon fulfllled, how gladly she would 
have recalled it if she could thereby have secured 
her former miserable home, and saved herself from 
entering a new and wholly unknown world. 

Her kindly old companion watched her for a 
short time in silence, then to open the conversation, 
asked : “ How old are you, my child ? ” 

“ Between fifteen and sixteen,” replied Margar- 
ethe timidly. 

“Have you always lived with old Jost?” 

“ Ever since I was a year old, they tell me.” 

“ Have you ever seen your father or mother ? ” 

“Ho, never.” 

“Hor heard anything about them ?” 


94 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


“Very little.” 

“ Who told you about them, my child ? ” 

’ “ Nobody told me about them ; but when I went 
to school the other children said I did not belong 
to them, I was a foundling. I asked dost what 
that was, and he explained it to me, but said I was 
not one ; for my parents did not leave me at a 
church door, or on a street corner, but that I had 
lost my father before my birth, and my mother 
when I w^as scarcely a year old. Since that time an 
old lady, one of my mother’s relatives, has paid for 
my board every year,” 

“ He told you the truth, and I cannot say any- 
tliing more about your parents at present. When 
you are a few years older you shall know the rest ; 
but tJiis I can tell you now, that the old lady who 
provided for you after your mother’s death, was 
your grandmother ; I am her brother.” 

“ Then sir,” said Margarethe timidly, “ you are 
my great uncle.” 

“ Yes,” replied the old gentleman smiling ; “but 
why does that frighten you?” 

“ It doesn’t frighten me ; but I wondered — ” 

“What did you wonder? be perfectly frank 
with me, child ; it is necessary if we are to learn to 
understand each other. So you wondered — ” 

“ Wliy you came here to see me ; and especially 
why you should trouble yourself about me, when I 
am only a disgrace to you.” 

“You a disgrace to me? What put such an 


MAIiGARETHE FINDS AN UNCLE. 


95 


idea into yonr head ? Who told you anything of 
that sort ? ” 

“ Mother Ann-’Trine, Jost’s wife, was angry with 
me a little while ago, because in grieving over 
Leo’s absence, I forgot to take some roots to the 
cow. She scolded me bitterly, and said it was 
lucky Leo had gone or I should have become just 
as bad as my mother. Then I grew angry and 
said my mother was not bad, she was very good; 
but Ann-’Trine screamed so loud that dost heard 
it out of doors: ‘Your mother was a disgrace to 
her whole family, and you are one too.’ Then 
when dost came in he said it was unfortunately 
true, but he scolded Ann’-Trine for telling me, said 
it was much too soon for me to know about such 
things, and commanded me to ask no more about 
it, and never speak of it to any human being. 
I have not done so until now ; but I have thought 
of it a great deal, with sorrow and anxiety. Dear 
sir, do pray tell me what harm I and my poor, 
dead mother have done.” 

“You have done nothing wrong, my poor child, 
it is only your unfortunate mother who once com- 
mitted a fatal error. You certainly know, or can 
understand that the sins of the parents dishonor 
the children too. But since your poor mother, 
died of grief and remorse for her one false step, 
and we certainly may be permitted to hope that 
God has forgiven her for it, w'e ought not to judge 
her otherwise than gently. I see you do, my child ; 


96 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


if your mother were still alive you surely would 
not iiici'ease her grief by reproaches, but strive to 
soften it by your love and devotion. Who is this 
Leo, of whom you spoke ? ” 

Margarethe explained, and the old man listened 
with eager attention. Two things were made 
clear to him by her story ; — the cause of the re- 
linement, which, to his great astonishment, he had 
perceived in the poor child’s manner, and been 
unable to reconcile with her rude surroundings, 
and the existence of a deep affection for her young 
teacher, the true nature of which she did not 
appear as yet to understand. 

“ You are greatly indebted to young Herr Ber- 
ger,” he said earnestly; “for if hitherto you had 
had no better instruction and society than the 
village schools and the home of your poor foster 
parents could have afforded, it would be very 
difficult for us to supply the deficiencies. By the 
efforts of this excellent young man, you are far 
better informed than I dared to hope, and in a 
very short time we shall succeed in fitting you to 
fill the position of my niece and foster daughter.” 

“ Am I really to be your niece, your daughter ! ’’ 
exclaimed Margarethe in a tone of mingled joy 
and dread. “ Ah ! sir, dear, kind sir ! ” 

“ If you wish to be my little daughter,” said the 
old man smiling, and forcing back a secret tear, 
you must not call me ‘sir;’ say uncle, as your 
poor mother did.” 


MARGARETHE FINDS AN UNCLE. 


97 


‘‘Uncle? Ah! yes; my dear uncle. And you 
will really take me with you, and always be as 
kind and gentle as you are to-day? But is tlie 
place where I am to live with you near our moor ? ” 
“ Not very near, Margarethe ; we must ride two 
days to reach it.” 

Margarethe was silent. To her, who had scarcely 
ever been an hour’s walk beyond the borders of 
the moor, the distance seemed so great that she 
feared it would separate her forever from all she 
had loved. The more the thought of parting from 
her former life absorbed her mind, the more sor- 
rowful she became, until her uncle at last noticed 
that she was weeping softly, but very bitterly. 

“ Why, Margarethe, child, is it so very terrible 
to be obliged to ride a few days ? or are you un- 
willing to go with me ? Believe me, you shall be 
as happy as if I were your own father.” 

“Oh, I know that; for only one person ever 
spoke to me as you do, dear sir — dear uncle — I 
will gladly go with you ; but poor old Jost, and 
Annchen of Nordhecke, and — and — ” 

“ Dear child ! I suppose the parting from these 
good people will grieve you to the heart ; it is very 
natural, and I should be sorry if you could leave 
them without regret ; but don’t be so sad. Jost 
shall often visit us, and we will not forget the 
moor. You may come to see your friends some- 
times, and we will show the good people a kindness 
whenever we can.” 


98 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


Margarethe was too gentle and submissive not 
to pay attention to the words of her new guardian, 
and by the time she reached her humble home, 
succeeded in becoming tolerably composed. But 
when she saw the face of her rough old foster 
mother, Avho was staring in amazement at the 
unusual sight of a coach stopping before her door, 
and looked up to her little chamber windows, 
behind whose bright panes a scarlet geranium, 
Leo’s gift, was blooming, her eyes again filled with 
tears. We love our homes be they ever so poor, 
ever so miserable! What a powerful, enduring 
charm clings to the place which sheltered our 
early years. Ah ! this is one of the most benevo- 
lent dispensations of Providence; for the majority 
of mankind have humble homes. 

Justizrath Greven of course looked at Jost’s 
miserable cottage with very different eyes. Deep 
compassion for the child who had been condemned 
to live here in penury and want, while her grand- 
parents were rolling in wealth, mingled with angry 
grief at the thought of his brother-in-law’s stern 
pride, and his sister’s cowardly fear, through 
which she had sinned against her grand-daughter. 
For a moment he was so deeply agitated that he 
could scarcely answer Jost, who had opened the 
carriage door and invited him to descend and come 
into the house, but when he saw Margarethe’s eyes 
fixed anxiously upon him, he composed himself, 
and strove to soothe his excited feelings by the 


MARGAEETHE FINDS AN UNCLE. 


99 


solemn resolution to use every effort to make 
amends to tlie poor orphan for what she had lost 
through the neglect of others. 

His conversation with Jost and old Ann’-Trine 
was a long one, but ended satisfactorily to both. 
The faithful old couple, with the keen insight pecu- 
liar to their class, soon became convinced that 
Margarethe would be “hugely well off” with her 
new guardian, and Greven perceived by the un- 
feigned sorrow with which they spoke of their 
impending separation from the young girl, a sorrow 
for which the promise of an abundant support for 
the future afforded no consolation, that, in their 
rude way, they had sincerely loved the forsaken 
child. The hardest task was with Margarethe 
herself. She parted from the old people with the 
bitterest grief, which could scarcely have been 
greater if they had been her own parents, took 
leave of the wretched little garden, the dog, the 
cat, and even the lean old cow, with floods of tears ; 
but the most agonizing farewell was taken of her 
own little room, where she had so often prayed for 
Leo before the picture of the Virgin, — Leo’s gift, — 
so often read the books he brought her. This had 
been the scene of her deepest, most quiet joys, and 
it seemed to her as if in abandoning this secret 
asylum for her dearest memories and wishes, the 
chasm between her and her absent' friend grew 
infinitely wider. 


100 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


CHAPTER Vm. 

AN UNWELCOME GUEST. 

About the same time that Margarethe left Jost’s 
ottage, old Count Ulrich von Steinthal, the father 
of the man who had destroyed the honor and life 
of the young girl’s mother, died at his castle. 
Ruinous to poor Helene as the dead man’s influence 
over his son had been, his death was a matter of 
total indifference to her daughter, who had no 
suspicion of this grandfather’s existence. 

The old count had just as little knowledge of 
her ; he had obtained his object in regard to Mar- 
garethe and her mother; — they did not bear his 
name, — and as soon as he was secure of this fact 
he forgot the very existence of such inferior crea- 
tures. If they had asked for money, he would 
have advised his son to give them a generous sup- 
ply ; but as the “ official’s daughter,” who was rich 
herself, asked nothing, not the faintest idea that 
his son could have any duty to discharge towards 
her or her child, had ever entered his brain. 

As he had been at ease in his own mind on this 


AN UNWELCOME GUEST. 


101 


point, so it was with regard to all others. By his 
son’s wealthy marriage he had not only obtained 
an old age free from care, but had seen the house of 
Steinthal restored to a large portion of the mag- 
nificence which was its due, and the future of his 
race apparently secured. His son had already lour 
children ; two sturdy sons and two daughters, the 
latter older than their brothers. One sister was 
beautiful as day, but the other was plain like her 
mother, so it was to be hoped that the elder wmuld 
make a brilliant marriage, whereby the younger 
with an abundant private income, might live with 
her. Thanks to the care of their mother and 
grandfather, the children had been trained in the 
forms and customs of their rank; all four were 
healthy, bright, and teeming with family pride. 

Count Ulrich could bear witness that he had 
labored zealously to bring about the results he so 
earnestly desired, and that, but for his active in- 
fluence upon his son’s life and family relations, this 
object would never have been attained ; he thereby 
believed he had won the right to look back with a 
calm conscience, nay, even with a certain sense of 
satisfaction, over the whole of his past life. Not 
the faintest idea ever entered his mind that a man 
of his rank had any other duties than to carefully 
provide for the splendor and welfare of his family, 
and secure its permanent continuance upon the 
usual foundations of wealth and aristocratic alli- 
ances. With a cold nature and a narrow, inactive 


102 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


mind, although not without a certain cunning in 
little things, he had always anxiously endeavored 
to keep aloof from all other classes of society, and 
thus made it impossible to receive other ideas ano. 
fresher thoughts than the traditions of his rank, 
since his knowledge was so deficient he could 
scarcely form an impartial judgment. 

From this state of afiairs it may be easily under- 
stood that the activity limited to such narrow 
bounds, had been neither benevolent nor ennobling. 
The count had afforded no one pleasure, awakened 
no gratitude; he had neither given nor received 
love, and yet he laid himself down to his last re- 
pose entirely at peace with himself. It might be 
said to cheer one in regard to the future destiny 
of such a man, that he had acted in good faith and 
knew no better ; but there is always an agonizing 
uncertainty. The lessons of Christianity and phil- 
anthropy penetrate into all circles, and he who 
does not heed them must wilfully reject them. 

But, little happiness as Count Ulrich’s deeds 
might have produced, and inferior as were his in- 
tellectual powers, his influence, so far as it extend- 
ed, Avas by no means inconsiderable. He had 
completely governed his son, partly by his parental 
authority, and partly by the indifference and calm- 
ness, which, supported by external circumstances 
he invariably opposed to the latter’s passionate 
acts and feelings ; but in spite of this, they could 
not live together without serious disputes. 


AN UNWELCOME GUEST. 


103 


The young man, in liis ill-regulated, passionate 
moods, often inclined towards the life his father 
rejected as useless and troublesome, and besides 
this his early years having fallen in the time of the 
war for freedom, he had occasionally caught a ray 
of the golden light which then flooded the whole 
nation like a sun of peace and joy. Whenever a 
spark of this borrowed fire appeared in the words 
or acts of the young man, his father was instantly 
anxious to extinguish it. He called every such 
expression a breath from the sulphurous pool of 
revolution and indiscriminately condemned every 
idea which turned towards progress, and the 
victory always remained with him, because the 
principles of the so-called free-thinkers had not 
taken sufficiently deep root in his son’s soul for 
him to be willing to make any sacrifice for them. 
They perhaps only served as a pretext to aid him 
in gratifying some ill-regulated caprice or illicit 
wish. 

In this respect his father really had the advan- 
tage ; he clung unchangeably to his stiff old ideas, 
and had the courage and frankness always to 
acknowledge and act up to them under all circum- 
stances. 

The old count had always lived on friendly terms 
with his daughter-in-law. She sympathized with 
his plans and views in regard to their family life, 
and the education of the children. The form into 
which she moulded her household matters was 


104 


NOT IN THEIE SET. 


cold and un pleasing, but never deviated a hair’s 
breadth from the rules assigned by aristocratic 
propriety. The manner in which she arranged her 
domestic affairs and wore her rich clothing, the 
entertainments given to different members of the 
family, as well as to the social circle, which at rare 
intervals, she gathered round lier, — all partook in 
some degree of her own unlovely character, and 
were as tiresome as herself; yet one could not 
deny that this life, although it neither brightened 
nor beautified the spacious halls through which it 
moved, was well fitted to the magnificent frame 
that surrounded it. But this was all that Count 
Ulrich desired of his daughter-in-law in this re- 
spect. He did not mind their little differences in 
taste, at least so he persuaded himself with wise 
magnanimity ; but at heart it was the conscious- 
ness that the countess probably felt how much 
importance her wealth bestowed upon her in this 
ruined family, and would not resign her right to 
rule without a violent struggle, wliich induced 
him to be so yielding. The young count, from, 
the first moment he gave his hand to his unloved 
cousin, had taken up his share of their life with a 
sort of despair, and striven for little else than to 
make the tedium of an aimless existence as endur- 
able as possible by the manifold distractions of 
frequent change of scene. His father, who knew 
the dark spot in his past, and his wife who was 
aware of the w'eakness of his affection, but did not 


AN UNWELCOME GUEST. 


105 


wish to utterly destroy it, never interfered with 
his course of life. If, however, on any occasion, a 
slight dispute arose between the husband and wife, 
the old count was always on his daughter-in-law’s 
side, partly because he thought it more prudent, 
and also because in most cases their views har- 
monized. The old gentleman, in his quiet way, 
had been a support and help to her, had showed 
his affection for his grandchildren so far as lay in 
his nature, and cared for their health and proper 
training. 

His son had had many a contest with him, but the 
father always remained the victor. It was not to 
be denied that to his counsel, his firmly expressed 
will, this son was indebted for his worldly pros- 
perity, and his lofty, undisputed position among 
his equals in rank; but this very counsel, this 
almost forcibly executed will, had cost the young 
man the happiness of his whole life, and driven 
him to commit the great sin of which he had been 
guilty. Although he was careless and selfish 
enough to partly shut out the memory of his per- 
jury and its fatal consequences, — he never attained 
complete forgetfulness, calmness untortured by 
remorse; the wounds in his conscience always 
separated him from his father and the world. 

Thus, in his father’s death, the young count 
really lost the weakest of all his family ties ; yet 
he mourned for the old man now that he was gone. 
He had been his father, and his loss — so it seemed 


106 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


to him — would make a great void in his life. 
When he saw his children weep for their grand- 
father, a flood of bitter tears gushed from his own 
eyes ; but the thought of seeking comfort where a 
husband in better, more natural circumstances, 
would have been sure to find it, — in the heart of 
his wife, — never occurred to him. Still, in spite of 
this, he was not utterly deserted in the house whose 
head he had now become ; he had one sympathiz- 
ing, loving consoler. 

:J« 4s * * * * ♦ 

The November day was drawing to a close. It 
was the first frost of the new Winter, and the 
clearness of the air delayed the approach of even- 
ing a little longer than is usual at this season of the 
year. Count Carl and his family were not in their 
usual sitting room. The near relatives of the old 
count and the noble families in the neighborhood 
had come to Castle Miltenberg to attend the 
funeral, but most of them took leave directly after 
dinner, and only a nephew of the dead man, Baron 
von Dornick, his wife, and sixteen year old daugh. 
ter remained. They were all assembled in a spa- 
cious apartment that looked out upon the lake. 
In the central window stood a table, around which 
the count’s four children and their cousin were 
gathered, while the middle of the lofty room was 
occupied by a larger table, near which sat the 
count and countess, with the baron and his wife. 


AN UNWELCOME GUEST. 


107 


The children, in spite of their gloomy mourn- 
ing dresses, were talking together quite gayly. 
Although the solemn ceremony they had witnessed 
in the morning had made a strong and painful 
impression upon them, and they sincerely mourned 
their grandfather’s death, their young hearts were 
not so deeply moved as to leave them no power to 
be interested in another and more cheerful event ; 
and such they considered the presence of guests in 
the castle, especially that of their young cousin, 
whom all were eagerly striving to entertain. 

“You must come to us in the Summer, Cecilia,” 
cried Fritz, the younger boy, “ then I’ll lend you 
my pony, and you can ride to the village — or even 
as far as S ” 

“ Oh ! that’s nothing,” said the elder brother ; 
“ I know of something much better. I will take 
you out fishing, or row you in the boat ; that will 
be far pleasanter.” 

“ You are both very stupid,” angrily interposed 
Therese, the count’s youngest daughter, who 
seemed to have inherited her mother’s personal 
appearance with her name. “ You propose nothing 
but boys’ amusements for poor Cecilia; but she 
would enjoy it much more to drive to the city 
with mamma and me, go into the beautiful shops, 
and hear the band on the Parade.” 

“ How precocious ! ” thought Cecilia, a tall, 
handsome girl, with a bright, but somewhat pre- 
maturely old face — the reproach she was secretly 


108 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


casting upon her cousin was perhaps a little deserved 
by herself — then said aloud : “ But isn’t Louise to 
drive with us, Therese ? ” 

“ Oh ! she would much rather go to walk with 
papa,” replied the younger sister, pertly : “ mamma 
says Louise is insufferably staid.” 

“ Is that true, little Loulou ? ” asked Cecilia. 

“ Mamma only says that in joke,” cried Ulrich, 
eager to defend his favorite sister; “she loves 
Loulou very much, just as much as she does you, 
Tlieresettchen.” 

The little girl pouted her somewhat prominent 
lips contemptuously, and Cecilia continued : “ So 
you have nothing to say to me, Louise ; I almost 
think you wouldn’t be glad to see me if I should 
come back in the Summer.” 

“ Oh ! yes indeed, Cecilia,” was the courteous, 
although not very cordial reply ; “ but I am afraid 
the things I should propose might not suit you.” 

“ What would you do to entertain me, then ? ” 

“ I thought it would be very pleasant to draw, 
practice our music, read — ” 

“No, no,” interrupted Cecilia, laughing; “I 
never do such things when I am visiting. Frau- 
lein Bisson torments me enough at home. But you 
have a governess too, Louise ; I should think her 
eyes would be too sharp for you to find your 
‘ Paradise ’ in the study hours.” 

“1 didn’t say that,” replied Louise, a smile 
flitting over her remarkably beautiful, but some- 


AN UNWELCOME GUEST. 


109 


what pale face, which expressed a deeper thought- 
fulness than seemed to be quite in harmony with 
her years. “ I should prefer to have my seventeenth 
birthday as near as yours, so that 1 need not read, 
draw, and practice my music according to Fraulein 
Falk’s ideas. When she raises her eye-brows and 
says ; ‘ Louise, I have a charming book ; we will 
read it together’ — it almost spoils the contents for 
me. But if I am allowed to take one myself and 
run away with it into some window corner, or 
under a tree, I am perfectly happy.” 

“I am sorry, but I don’t share your tastes at 
all, Loulou. I should much rather drive to the 
city with Therese, or row on the lake with Ulrich. 
I have never learned to ride, Fritz, and don’t 
know whether I could.” 

The boys now eagerly joined in the conversation, 
and the merry, prattling, childish group afforded a 
very pleasant picture, on which the count’s eyes 
rested with such a kindly expression, that the 
Baroness von Dornick said smiling ; “ It is a pity, 
mon cousin^ that our Cecilia is too old for Ulrich ; 
one would think you would not be unfavorably 
disposed towards a future alliance between the two 
children.” 

The countess, although she did not consider her- 
self a day too old for her husband, would have 
indignantly rejected the thought of giving her son 
a wife who was his senior. She therefore, before 
her husband could answer, replied : “lam afraid. 


110 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


my dear, our Ulrich would be far too wild for 
your sensible Cecilia.” 

‘‘Yes, Cecilia really is a very clever girl,” said 
the baroness, with maternal pride. 

“ Then she would just suit Ulrich,” replied the 
count, with no other design than to tease his wife 
a little. “We see how brilliantly my wife’s clever- 
ness shines forth when contrasted with me.” 

The countess had a sharp answer to her husband’s 
jeering speech upon her lips; but the baroness, 
who liked nothing so much as quiet and comfort, 
and therefore always strove to avert an impending 
storm, hastily replied : “ Modesty compels me to 
remark that there is a wide difference between 
Cecilia’s cleverness and that of our dear Therese. 
The child has neither special taste, nor great talent 
for the learning with which people fill young 
ladies’ heads now-a-days; she is only practical.” 

“Well, in that she is like her mother,” said the 
baron good-naturedly. “ I have always been the 
better for my wife’s talent for practical matters, 
and I think it will be no bad thing for my daugh- 
ter’s future husband.” 

“ So much the more,” observed the countess in 
her dry manner, “ as Cecilia must have an over- 
poweringly practical mind, since she inherits it 
from both parents.” 

“ Ah ! you mean I too have a practical turn,” 
said the baron, bowing. “Well, you are quite 


AN UNWELCOME GUEST. 


Ill 


right: I am practical, purely practical. It must 
be so to harmonize with my views of life.” 

“ Yes, he is right : neither he nor his wife have 
any other qualities,” thought the count. “To 
think that such people shpuld be Therese’s favorite 
companions ! They are fairly dried up with their 
lack of imagination, of warmth of heart, and of all 
need of anything higher.” 

As he glanced contemptuously at a very useful 
but by no means ornamental piece of netting in 
the baroness’ hand, his thoughts became absorbed 
in recollections of a visit he had paid to this Baron- 
ess von Dornick soon after his marriage with the 
countess. At that time the baroness had been 
wedded scarcely a year, and was a handsome young 
girl, merry and blooming like her husband, who 
was then a captain of cavalry, stationed in a gay, 
provincial capital. Here the wealthy young couple 
went to housekeeping, and as a matter of course 
were much sought after and admired ; for youth, 
beauty, wealth, and lavish hospitality, soon obtain 
a large circle of so-called friends. The baron’s 
household arrangements were in perfect harmony 
with the gay, social life he led. Every guest 
praised tlie bright, spacious rooms, elegant, com- 
fortable furniture, handsome paintings, charming 
flower garden, dainty table, good wine, and atten- 
tive, w^ell- trained servants in tlie Dornick house- 
hold. Even a fine piano was not wanting, although 
neither the baron nor his wife played ; but when 


112 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


on the second day of his visit, Herr von Dornick 
being at riding-school, and the ladies dressing for 
their morning visits, the time hung heavy on the 
count’s hands, and he sought for a book to while 
away an hour, he searched in vain among the thou- 
sand ornaments and trifles that covered the buflTets, 
tables, and etageres — he found everything else. 
When the baroness entered in full dress, the count 
could not help asking: ‘‘Where is your library, 
cousin ? ” 

“ My library ? ” she replied, with a look of the 
greatest astonishment. 

“Yes, your books; I have been looking every- 
where, but found none.” 

“ My prayer-books are lying on the bureau in 
my dressing-room ; but what do you want of one 
on a week-day, cousin ? ” 

“ Why, I did not ask for a manual of devotion ; 
I expected to find a novel, a book of travels, or 
‘something of the kind.” 

“Oh! I haven’t anything of that sort; yet stop 
— I believe there were some among my school 
books, but I left them all at home for my younger 
sisters.” 

“But Friedrich must have books; I should like 
something to read until he returns from riding- 
school, and you and Therese come back from your 
visits.” 

“My husband?” asked the fair young wife, look- 
ing very charming with the slight shade of thought 


AN UNWELCOME GUEST. 


113 


on her blooming face. “ Perhaps he has, and if so, 
they must be in his room ; we will see.” 

She accompanied the count to her husband’s 
room, while half amused, half astonished, he asked : 
“ Do you never see Friedrich read, cousin ? ” 

“ Do I ever see him read ? No indeed ; I couldn’t 
stand that, it is so stupid.” 

They found in the captain’s room everything 
that one could think necessary for the comfort of 
a fashionable young man, but no books. Yes — 
there was something to read ; on the table before 
the sofa lay a few numbers of a military newspapers 
and on another, half hidden under a pile of other 
things, a book. The count read the title : “ Com- 
plete and easily understood directions for the train- 
ing of blood horses,” and instantly laid the treasure 
aside. 

The baroness looked at him in surprise, and said : 
“ Why, we have found more than we expected ; a 
book and some newspapers besides.” 

“ But I have lost my desire to read,” replied the 
count, smiling ; “ I will go to the club for an hour 
instead.” 

“ That is a better plan, dear cousin ; it will be 
much more amusing,” replied the baroness, looking 
earnestly at the book and newspapers as if they 
were very unfamiliar objects, and added: “I only 
wonder how Friedrich can meddle with such things, 
he is generally so practical.” 

This incident recurred to the count’s mind as 


114 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


vividly as if it had happened that very day, and in 
strange contrast arose the memory of the taste 
poor Helene had cherished for art and literature, 
even for more serious studies, and this to a far 
higher degree than is customary among ladies. 
He thought of' the careful education she had en- 
joyed, of her talent for conducting an animated, 
cheerful conversation, of her deep, warm affections, 
and a feeling rose within him that her early death 
had been a loss to him, that he had not been the 
cause of it, and had her life been prolonged, spite 
of the wall of separation which had risen between 
them, it would have been a gain to him. Tliis 
feeling, unauthorized as it was, inspired him with 
a deej) repugnance towards his present surround- 
ings, and to escape for a short time the conversa- 
tion of his practical relatives, he rose and ap- 
proached the children. 

“Papa,” said Louise looking up at him affection- 
ately, with a loving gaze which betrayed a far 
more tender heart than was usually expressed by 
her cold, impassive features, “ Papa, are you com- 
ing to join us ? That is splendid, I have a favor 
to ask which you surely won’t refuse me.” 

“ And what is the favor, my child ? ” he inquired, 
glad to divert his thoughts by a conversation with 
his daughter; as he spoke he passed his hand 
caressingly over her shining golden tresses, for 
Louise was a blonde, though her parents, brothers, 
and sister all had dark hair. 


AN UNWELCOME GUEST. 


115 


“You know, papa,” replied the young girl, “I 
sent poor, lame Dick Jansen to the village tailor to 
learn his trade. But what I saved from my pocket 
money was never quite enough to pay the appren- 
tice’s fee, and grandpapa sometimes helped me. 
The quarterly hill will be due day after to-morrow, 
and you know our dear grandpapa — ” 

Louise said no more, but looked at her father 
with a pleading gaze — oh ! what memories that 
glance recalled ! Why must these torturing recol- 
lections, which after so many long and weary 
struggles he had at last crushed down, return to 
him to-day ? And liow strange it seemed tliat 
Therese’s child should bear so close a resemblance 
to that poor, dead girl ! While these thoughts 
were passing through his mind, he assured his 
daughter, with a sad smile, that her wishes should 
be gratified. Just at that moment the door of the 
apartment was noiselessly opened, and a servant, 
approaching the count with evident reluctance, 
said in a low tone that a stranger who had begged 
to see him, was waiting in the small reception room. 

The servant’s fears proved well founded ; for the 
count started up and reproached him violently for 
not having sent away the intrusive stranger, as he 
knew the family received no one but relatives and 
intimate friends in these days of mourning. 

“ I could not send tlie strange gentleman away,” 
said the man apologetically — he was an old servant 
who had always been attached to his master's 


116 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


person, and knew all the events of his life, — “I 
could not send him away ; he compelled me to 
announce him, and here is his card.” 

The count cast a glance at thejiit of paste-board, 
and turned deadly pale. Twice he strove to speak, 
but without being able to utter a sound ; at last, 
with his eyes still fixed upon the card, he drew a 
long breath and said: “I will come at once,” and 
tlie servant disappeared. But the count’s whole 
manner had undergone such a change, that Louise 
caught his hand and asked anxiously : “Papa, are 
you well ? ” 

“ Perfectly well, my child ; but I must go and 
speak to this gentleman,” he answered, witli an 
anxious hesitation in his tone, as if the resolution 
had cost a hard struggle. 

He lingered a few minutes longer, and then 
slowly left the room like an invalid, or as a man 
striving to bear a burden beyond his strength. 

He paused a moment in the lighted corridor, and 
again read, half under his breath, the fatal card: 
“ Lorsberg, Regierungsrath Lorsberg — Helene — 
Helene Lorsberg,” he added after a sliort pause, in 
a frightened whisper. This was the reason his 
nerves were so fearfully shaken, that reality should 
tread so closely upon the thoughts which had 
crowded so irresistably upon his mind that day. 
He still lingered. How gladly he would have 
avoided this meeting! He lialf formed the resolu- 
tion to send word by a servant to the regierungs- 


AN UNWELCOME GUEST. 


117 


rath that he could not receive him, at least not 
now, and beg him, if an interview was necessary, 
to appoint another day. He was in the very act 
of giving the mAsage when he changed his mind. 
What would delay avail? Was it not better to 
learn at once the cause of tliis unwelcome visit ? 
Might he not perhaps have come on behalf of poor 
Helene’s child ? She must now be almost grown 
up. Perhaps the grandfather came to claim a 
dowry for her. Yes, that was very possible. If 
so, he should not have come in vain, the count 
would show himself generous. 

Improbable as was this supposition in regard to 
a man of the regierungsrath’s unbending pride and 
great wealth, especially as not the slightest claim 
had been made during all these years, the count 
clung to it ; he felt the necessity of encouraging 
himself. At last he opened the door of the drawing- 
room, and went to meet his visitor. 


118 


NOT IN TIIEIE SET. 


CHAPTER IX. 

OUTRAGED HONOR. 

A FEW wax candles which had been hastily lighted, 
cast a j^artial glow through the apartment ; but 
as the regierungsrath stood directl}^ before the 
table on which they were burning, they shed their 
full light upon him, and the count instantly noticed 
how stern and gloomy was the expression of his 
face. This was no guest who came to express some 
indiiferent wish, but an enemy, a furious, determined 
enemy, and the count felt the cold perspiration 
standing on his brow, while his heart seemed 
almost to stop beating. 

The regierungsrath looked up without the slight- 
est apparent emotion ; not even the faintest gesture 
of recognition softened the wrath expressed in his 
countenance, but he stood motionless and stern 
with his eyes fixed steadily upon the count, and 
this very composure contained a more terrible 
menace than could have been conveyed by the 
most passionate words. He could not endure it, 
and therefore broke the silence by faltering ; “ You 


OUTRAGED HONOR. 


119 


wished to speak to me, Herr Regierungsrath ? ” 

“ Yes ; ” was the curt, angry response, followed 
by the same oppressive silence. The count inter- 
rupted it a second time to ofier his guest a chair, 
which Lorsberg accepted without uttering a word 
or removing his eyes from the master of the house. 
The latter was striving to find some means to break 
a silence which was becoming^ more torturing; each 
moment, when the regierungsrath at last began to 
speak himself. “My wife died a week ago,” he 
said, in a cold, stern voice. Count von Steinthal, 
who was secretly wondering why he gave him this 
information, attempted to express his sympathy, 
but Lorsberg, without heeding his words, continued 
in the same tone : “ She was buried on the evening 
of the 19th, and early the following morning I set 
out on my journey to Miltenberg.” 

The count’s astonishment increased, but he care- 
fully avoided any expression of it, and replied, 
bowing: “It is very flattering to me, Herr Regier. 
ungsrath, that in your heavy affliction you should 
seek the consolations of friendship at Miltenberg.” 

“ You are mistaken,” said Lorsberg, “ I did not 
come here to meet a friend; I have friends no 
longer, for I am a dishonored man. When did 
tliey ever cling to one disgraced ? — But I know of 
an enemy at Miltenberg, and came to stand face to 
face with him?"* 

He laid so strong an empliasis on the ■word 
enemy tliat it pierced the count’s very soul ; it was 


120 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


the first sign of emotion betrayed in the voice of 
the regierungsrath, and it was plainly a hostile one. 

As his opponent remained in an embarrassed 
silence, Lorsberg continued : “You now know the 
object of my visit, and will see for yourself that I 
do not come here to seek comfort like a woman, 
but to avenge myself as beseems a man.” 

Count von Steinthal shrank back, but Lorsberg 
quietly continued : “ Yes, though guiltless and 
hitherto ignorant of it, I come as a dishonored» 
most shamefully dishonored man, whose vengeance 
will be deadly in proportion to the shame heaped 
upon his head.” 

“You are mistaken, Herr Regierungsrath,” 
stammered the count, who had lost all self-command, 
“ you are certainly mistaken ; what enemy could 
you have at Miltenberg, when I — ” 

“ You ! ” interrupted Lorsberg with a sneering 
laugh. “You would probably do me the honor to 
call yourself my friend, with the same honest in- 
tentions, the same pure designs that you had seven- 
teen years ago. But it is useless. My wife and 
daughter are no longer alive to be deceived ; my 
eyes are at last opened, and my grand-daughters 
are still too young to fill Helene’s place.” 

“Oh! Herr Regierungsrath, you are punishing 
me too cruelly,” cried the count, with an imploring 
glance. 

“ Punishing ? Do you call it a punishment, when 
I merely allude to facts ? What exquisite tender- 


OUTKAGED HONOR. 


121 


ness of feeling you must possess when simpiy re- 
curring to the past is felt as a punishment.” 

“ Herr llegierungsrath,” replied the count, who 
had regained a tolerable degree of composure, “ if 
any other man whom I honored less highly, had 
permitted himself to use such expressions towards 
me — rely upon it — I should not listen to them so 
quietly.” 

“ Whom you honored less than myself? That 
is not your first lie.” 

“ Sir ! ” 

“Ah! is the noble blood beginning to stir? 
No, I repeat it, it is not your first, or your worst 
lie. Or did you show your esteem for the father, 
when you dragged his daughter into the mire? 
Is not your cowardly hypocrisy to-day far better 
than the treachery with which you ensnared my 
once innocent child ? ” 

“ Sir, I must beg you to be more cautious in your 
expressions,” cried the count, wlio saw no other 
means of escape than to work himself up into a 
pretended fury; “I don’t know Avhat can induce 
you to recall a long forgotten story with sucli un- 
exampled shamelessness. If you intended to ex- 
tort — ” he rose with a repellant expression upon 
liis aristocratic face, as if he considered it entirely 
beneath his dignity to continue the conversation 
another moment. 

He had no opportunity to say more, but it was 
equally impossible for him to leave his unwelcome 


122 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


guest. Lorsberg seized him firmly by the slioulder 
and forced him back into his chair as if he would 
crush him. He was silent for a moment, but the 
fury in his eyes exerted such a powerful influence 
over the man before him, that after a vain effort 
to regain his composure, he helplessly averted his 
gaze without uttering a word. 

“ Do not venture to leave this room, or to address 
words to me which, between us, could have no 
meaning except in connection with yourself. Ex- 
tort? Why should I, a rich man, who have lived 
in luxury from my youth, seek to extort anything 
from a beggarly count, who, to save himself from 
his creditors, was compelled to sell himself, body 
and soul, to an ugly old woman ? And shameless ? 
Which is shameless? The father who stands here 
to revenge his ruined child, or the unprincipled 
scoundrel who disgraced and abandoned the un- 
happy girl ? ” 

“ Herr Regierungsrath,” replied the count, who 
this time succeeded in replying calmly, and even 
with a certain amount of dignity, for he now spoke 
the truth, “I have suffered as deeply as any one in 
consequence of your daughter’s misery, and most 
bitterl}'^ deplored the force of circumstances which 
compelled me to part from her.” 

Lorsberg’s only reply was a short, bitter laugh, 
so full of wrathful scorn that the count was still 
more alarmed. But he again forced himself to 
calmness, and continued: “I acknowledge, with 


OUTRAGED HONOR. 


123 


no little sorrow, that you have every reason to 
load me with reproaches, but I confess I cannot 
understand why, after allowing this painful matter 
to rest for years, you should now overwhelm me 
with upbraidings, and - express your anger with 
such unmeasured violence.” 

“ So I ought to be mild and gentle, confine my- 
self strictly to the smooth, polished forms of society, 
while all the torment of the memory of my lost 
honor is raging within me ? The gentleman proba- 
bly thinks his villainy is condoned by time; but 
even though, as a nobleman, you may have learned 
little enough, you ought at least to know that 
crime is not outlawed like debt.” 

“ I did not intend to say I wa« not ready to 
answer for any of my former acts,” replied Count 
von Steinthal, with a shade of his usual haughty 
manner ; “ I merely wished to express my surprise 
that you should suddenly appear so violently in- 
furiated against me to-day, when for so many years 
you have maintained an indifferent silence.” 

“I was not silent from indifference, but because 
I was ignorant of the circumstances,” replied Lors- 
berg, in a dull hollow tone. “It was only in my 
wife’s dying hour that I learned the full extent of 
your guilt to warns my daughter. Before that I 
had no suspicion how low the unhappy girl had 
fallen.” 

The count gasped for breath. His enemy’s last 
words fairly crushed him, and the calmness for 


124 


NOT IN TUEIR SET. 


which he had struggled so violently, again deserted 
him. He now understood why, after so many 
years, Lorsberg appeared before him in such furious 
wrath ; he now knew that no mercy, no amicable 
arrangement was possible. lie must avert by 
force the punishment which had come upon him, 
or submit to it with resignation. Overwhelmed 
by this bitter knowledge, he cowered back in 
despair. 

Lorsberg’s violence seemed to have exhausted 
itself ; he gazed at his opponent contemptuously, 
and then calmly made his demand. “The mystery 
of my appearance here, and my long delay, is now 
solved,” said he. “Your own conscience, weak 
and pitiful as it is, must tell you that we can only 
meet as enemies^ and that I have come to revenge 
myself upon you.” 

“ But, good heavens, what do you desire ? 
What satisfaction can I give you now that poor 
Helene—” 

“Do not utter that name — What do I desire? 
If my power was equal to my will, if human 
strength was not limited by subtle laws which 
protect the criminal from the vengeance of those 
he has injured, I would bring a worse misfortune 
than death under this roof. But as it is, I demand 
the only thing that is left for me to ask — youiTife.” 

“ My life ? ” 

“ Don’t be so startled,” exclaimed Lorsberg with 
his former sneering laugh. “ True, you murdered 


OUTEAGED HONOR. 


125 


the happiness and honor of my house hy stealth ; 
but I am no assassin. I came to ask it honorably, 
as men call it, and you have every advantage 
on your side; you can choose time, j^lace, and 
weapons.” 

“ I cannot fight with you, Ilerr Regierungsrath.” 

“ Cannot ? Do you not consider me your equal ? ’’ 

“ Oh ! no, no, not that ; but — ’ 

“Pitiful scoundrel! Ro, I did not believe you 
so utterly destitute of courage and honor. But 
it shall not avail .you. We are subjects of the 
same government, I am Ober-Regierungsrath in 
our sovereign’s service ; as such my rank is equal 
to that of a general in the army. You, as a former 
captain of cavalry, cannot refuse to give me satis- 
faction, especially since, as I have learned, you are 
an officer of the Land-wehr.” 

The count waved his hand deprecatingly. “ How- 
ever great cause you may have to reproach me,” 
said he, “ I cannot permit you to call me a coward. 
I consider you my equal, but I cannot light witli 
you — with Helene’s father. Any other antagonist 
you may send, I will cheerfully meet upon any 
conditions.” 

“ So long as I live, you will have no other an- 
tagonist in my cause than myself.” 

“ But I entreat you, I implore you, not to force 
me to add another injury to the wrong which, to 
my own deep remorse, I have already inflicted 
upon you. You are an old man, unaccustomed to the 


126 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


use of weapons. In a duel one is as little master of 
himself as of accidents, and if I should have the mis- 
fortune to wound you fatally — it Avould be the most 
terrible thing that could befall me.” 

“Would that it might befall you, although it is 
scarcely probable that the arm of a father seeking 
vengeance will be Aveaker than yours. The slow 
murder you dealt to that unhappy girl has doubt- 
less Aveighed lightly upon your aristocratic con- 
science; a second, more rapid death-blow, might 
perhaps, in some degree, imbitter your life.” 

The count and his angry guest had both been 
too deejily absorbed in their exciting conversation 
to heed anything else, and neither of them noticed 
that the door of the drawing-room had opened 
noiselessly a short time before. Louise, Avho saAA’’ 
her father leave the room with such a strikingly 
troubled manner directly after receiving Lorsberg’s 
card, had felt the greatest anxiety about him, 
although she would have been unable to give a 
reason for it, even to herself. But Avhen her father 
did not return, her anxiety increased to posith^e 
fear. Young as she Avas, she already had a great 
aversion to anything which could attract attention, 
or lead to a violent scene ; perhaps this proceeded 
from the fact that there were many things in her 
parents’ married life Avhich, even to the eyes of so 
young a child, seemed better to be concealed from 
strangers.” 

She therefore noiselessly left the drawing-room 


OUTRAGED HONOR. 


127 


and entered the smaller apartment, where, as she 
learned from the servant, her father was holding a 
loud, animated conversation with the stranger. 

Meantime her absence did not remain as un- 
noticed as she supposed. Baroness von Dornick 
liad observed the count’s departure, as well as his 
change of manner, nor did it escape her attention 
that his daugliter also left the room in evident 
anxiety. As in addition to her practical qualities, 
she also possessed an eager curiosity, she resolved 
if possible to learn what all tliis meant. 

“Wasn’t the count well, Therese? ” she asked. 

“ Oh yes, nothing is the matter with him ; ” re- 
plied the anxious wife very calml5^ 

“ But it is a long time since he left the room, 
and he looked very pale when he ‘went out.” 

“ But he did not complain of anything, and he 
often changes color,” w^as the quiet reply. 

“ I don’t understand why you should try to make 
Therese anxious, w,a chere^' said the baron. “ Your 
good sense is certainly deserting you. It is surely 
very natural a man should look rather pale on the 
day of his father’s funeral.” 

“Perhaps it is not anything else, but Louise 
seemed anxious,” persisted the baroness. “She 
followed her father, and has not yet returned.” 

The countess, although really by no means 
alarmed, thought it would appear better not to 
treat her cousin’s apparent uneasiness too lightly. 
She therefore followed her husband, and entered 


128 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


the little salon just in time to hear her daughter 
exclaim with very unusual vehemence : “ I don’t 
know you, sir, but whoever you may be, you are a 
bad man to vex my papa so, and on the very day 
of grandpapa’s funeral.” 

The countess, in spite of her astonishment, main- 
tained her usual cold self-possession, and waited 
silently at the door, in order, if possible, before 
interfering, to obtain a clear understanding of the 
extraordinary scene. 

At the young girl’s words, the stranger suddenly 
turned towards her, started back in amazement, 
and pointing to her with a trembling hand, asked, 
gasping for breath : “ Who is this child ? ” 

The count made no reply, but turned to his 
daughter and said sternly : “ Leave us, Louise.” 

She did not obey; but seizing his arm, fearlessly 
replied: “No, father, I will not go so long as this 
angry, wicked man is with you.” 

“ Father ? He, her father ! ” exclaimed Lorsberg, 
in violent agitation. But there were other feelings 
than anger and hate striving within him, and grasp- 
ing the count’s arm he again repeated : “ Who — 
who is this child ? ” 

For a moment the count was astonished at the 
evident change in his enemy’s appearance ; then 
Louise’s strange likeness to the unfortunate Helene 
occurred to him, and he replied: “She resembles 
Helene, and it affords me pleasure, though a pain- 


OUTRAGED HONOR. 


129 


ful one. She is ray eldest daughter, Herr Regier- 
ungsrath, Countess Louise von Steinthal.'’ 

“ Countess von Steinthal,” repeated Lorsberg, 
grasping the Count’s arm more firmly, “ so she is 
your wife’s, and not Helene’s — my daughter’s child.” 
Even as he spoke a change had again passed over 
him ; the old furious wrath resumed its sway, and 
when the Count shook his head in mute denial, ho 
hurled him from him so violently that the nobleman 
reeled several paces backward, and touched the 
Countess as she rapidly approached the group. 

“Whose child did you think the young lady 
should be?” asked the latter in her hard sharp 
voice. 

Lorsberg made no reply, but said to the Count 
imperiously; “Introduce me to this lady,” and 
utterly bewildered by the unexpected presence of 
his wife and daughter, the Count obeyed the com- 
mand. 

“ So 5^ou are Countess Steinthal,” continued Lors- 
berg, “ this young girl’s mother ! Shall I tell you, 
Madame, for whom I took her ? I thought she was 
the child my daughter bequeathed to your husband 
on her death-bed ; it must be about the same age.” 

“ What, sir;” exclaimed the Countess, in mingled 
amazement and anger. 

“My error is pardonable, Madame, and easily 
explained,” added Lorsberg, evidently rejoicing in 
the pain he was inflicting ; this child does not re- 
semble the Count, her father, nor does she bear 


130 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


the most distant likeness to you. Feature lor 
feature she is the perfect image of my unhappy, 
dishonored daughter, who seventeen years ago be- 
came the victim of your husband’s generous love. 
This singular resemblance affords me positive 
proof of one thing ; that your influence over the 
Count, great as it may be, is not sufficient to pro- 
tect him from the pangs of conscience, and the 
memory of a fairer Past. Your own beautiful 
daughter is a living memento that your husband 
once had better taste than when he offered his 
hand to you.” 

The Regierungsrath uttered these harsh, insult- 
ing words, in a loud stern voice, then turned to 
the Count, and said in a low tone ; “I will send 
my son to you to-morrow, with wdiom you may 
make farther arrangements,” and then left the 
appartment with a slow Arm step. 

Tlie Count sank exhausted into a chair, and the 
Countess gazed after Lorsberg’s retreating figure 
in bewilderment, but this lasted only a moment. 
Pale and trembling from head to foot, Louise laid 
her hand on her father’s shoulder, and glancing 
from him to her mother, asked anxiously; What 
does all this mean! Father, — mother — what has 
that terrible stranger to do with you and me ? ” 

“Ask your father; ” exclaimed the Countess, in 
an outburst of passion. “ He will know from whence 
this fine guest appeared, and what gave him the 
right to be so insolent to me, because I have the 


OUTRAGED HONOR. 


131 


happiness of being your father’s wife. A great 
happiness, a doubtful honor! Speak, Steinthal, 
what connection has this disgraceful scene with 
you and your Past ? ” 

The Count rose. “ Leave us, Louise,” he said sul- 
lenly. But the young girl did not move. “ Mamma is 
papa, and you are very, very sad,” she 
pleaded. “ Let me stay with you until you are calm 
and happy again.” 

“ Go, child, go,” repeated tlie Count but he spoke 
in a more gentle tone and seemed more composed, 
and Louise, though she lingered and looked at her 
parents anxiously, at last left the room. Just as 
she was about to close the door, her mother called: 
“ If your aunt Dornick asks any questions, tell her 
papa was not well and I must beg her to make 
the tea.” 

At last the door was shut between her and her 
child. “Now, Steinthal, what was the meaning of 
that scene ? ” she asked, turning towards her hus- 
band with a sharp expectant look. 

Steinthal had partially regained his composure, 
and answered with apparent calmness: “As you 
saw yourself, Therese, the man was excited almost 
to madness.” 

“ Yes, I saw that,” replied the Countess with her 
repellant coldness ; “ but I wish to learn from you 
what it was that had so excited him, driven him 
to such madness.” 

“ How should I know ? ” he answered evasively ; 


132 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


then, urged on by his wife’s angry glance to make 
some farther reply, added hesitatingly: “ I think — 
it is a family misfortune.” 

“ Family misfortune ! Of what nature? ” 

“ He lost his wife a few days ago.” 

“ Lost his wife ! And he comes to reproach you 
for it. Nonsense. Of what did this person die ? ” 
“ Oh ! Therese, how should I know ? I believe 
of the weakness of age.” 

“ The weakness of age ! And therefore the man is 
furiously enraged wdth you. That would certainly 
be ]>erfectly absurd ; but he seemed to me like a 
person who would be guilty of anything rather 
than an absurdity. — You do not answer me ? I 
beg you to remember, Steinthal, that I must and will 
have a clear understanding of this affair.” ‘ 

“But I know of nothing more to tell.” 

“Indeed? We will see. What did the man 
say about Louise ? ” 

“ Oh ! ” he replied, changing color, “ he discover- 
ed some faint resemblance between her and a person 
whom he had formerly known.” 

“ His daughter ? What was this person’s name ? ” 
“Helene, I think.” 

“ Ah ? So you know her too ? ” 

“ Seventeen or eighteen years ago ; but she has 
been dead a long time.” 

“ Then she didn’t die of the weakness of old age, 
at any rate,” said the Countess. 

“Despair, Madame,” cried the Count, fairly 


OUTRAGED HONOR. 


133 


driven to extremities ; “ Yes, despair, because yield- 
ing to my father’s wishes, I rejected her faithful 
love to offer my hand to you, the most heartless of 
women. But it was only my hand, Madame ; my 
heart, my whole soul, have belonged solely to her, 
to her alone. This is the reason Countess Steinthal 
has the features of Helene Lorsberg, and therefore 
the old man believed he saw his own daughter’s 
child in yours. He is right ; she is a living memento 
of my martyred love ; each glance I cast upon her^ 
each tone of her voice reminds me of the fairest 
hours of my life, and binds me forever to the dead 
girl to whom I owe the only real happiness I ever 
enjoyed, and which I so basely repaid! ” 

The Countess cast upon her husband a look of the 
bitterest contempt, and replied in a cold, repel I ant 
tone : “And so you take me for some weak pitiful 

creature I Yet do not imagine that your dark past 
was unknown to me, or that what you call love 
could make me happy, or its absence wretched. I 
gave you my hand because it made me Countess 
Steinthal, and because I knew that, as such, I 
should have complete authority over my propoi-ty 
and my children ; for I had jDerceived long before 
what a weak, commonplace man you were. Thus 
I have neither made any special discovery, nor 
need you suppose that the insight I have obtain- 
ed into your life will have any power to disturb the 
repose of mine. The only change which has 
occurred is that I despise you even more than be- 


134 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


fore,” and turning away with an expression of the 
most extreme contempt she left the room with a 
firm steady step. 

The duel between the Count and the Regierung- 
srath took place a few days after. The Count was 
uninjured but his antagonist received a slight 
wound, although Steinthal had intended to spare 
him, while Lorsberg’s sole thonght was to shoot 
down his enemy. There were no legal consequences, 
but it finally resulted in Lorsberg’s death. The fur- 
ious anger still raging in the soul of the wounded 
man caused fever to set in, and in less than a month 
after the grave closed over his wife, his own was 
dug beside it. His most ardent desire, that of aveng- 
ing himself upon the deceiver of his unhappy daugh- 
ter, seemed baffled, and it was only in the last 
days of his sickness that his regret for it yielded to 
better thoughts, and to the conviction that he him- 
self was not wholly blameless, and must forgive if 
he hoped to be forgiven. 

Yet it would be an error to suppose he had failed 
to avenge his daughter ; he had fully attained his 
sad object. True, Count Steinthal lived on undis- 
turbed in apparent comfort ; nothing in his outward 
circumstances seemed altered since his interview 
with the father of his early love. But it was only 
in his outward circumstances; he had formerly 
lived a cold joyless life — but since Lorsberg’s ap- 
pearance at Miltenberg it had become one of actual 
unhappiness. His wife’s indifference had changed 


OUTRAGED HONOR. 


135 


to open, marked aversion, and he retorted with 
equal sharpness. Worse than all, it was not only 
the husband and wife who stood in hostile relations 
towards each other — even poor innocent Louise was 
drawn into the unholy strife. Ever since the even- 
ing Madame von Steinthal had heard Lorsberg’s 
words about the young girl’s resemblance to his 
daughter, she seemed to have taken a dislike to her 
own child, while her husband, with whom Louise 
had always been the favorite daughter, loved her 
from that hour with a still warmer, more passion- 
ate alfection. This preference and dislike soon 
caused now open and now concealed reproaches and 
innuendoes between the parents. 

However much Louise, though remarkably wise 
and prudent for her years, might strive to avoid 
such contests, she was generally forced to take part 
in these unhappy quarrels ; for it was natural, un- 
der such circumstances, that she should grow cold- 
er and colder towards her mother, who rarely gave 
her a kind word but always had some sharp rebuke 
or keen reproach for her. All the love in her na- 
ture turned towards her father, who was always 
ready to protect, defend, and console her. Yet she 
could not consider him as that image of stainless 
honor and integi’ity, which a father should always 
appear to an affectionate child. She gave him her 
love without being able to add her respect, for the 
latter had been greatly shaken by Lorsberg’s words, 
perhaps all the more because she but dimly under. 


136 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


stood what the excited stranger said, and also be- 
cause she could not fail to perceive that her mother 
drew from the events of that evening dark accu- 
sations and reproaches against her father, which 
evidently wounded him deeply, but which he never 
sought to disown. To her mother, on the contrary, 
she could not reiuse her respect. The Countess’ 
nrm, self-reliant nature, her steady, in a certain 
sense, reliable manner of deciding upon her own 
acts and those of her family, commanded the es- 
teem of older and more experienced persons — how 
much more that of a young girl ! Yet Louise could 
not fail to perceive that her mother was cold and 
unloving, especially towards herself, and thus 
early became accustomed to believe no longer in 
the perfect goodness and stainless purity of any- 
thing, and though endowed by nature with a warm, 
loving heart, was deprived of one of the brightest 
joys of youth: that of forming an ideal of pure 
spiritual beauty, and being able to hope for the 
possibility that it may some day be realized. Never 
did she hope for any special joy, or weave glad 
youthful visions of a vague but beautiful future. 
She became prematurely cold and. calculating ; for 
while she expected no happiness she wished to 
secure herself against misfortune. To all this was 
added an hereditary and carefully fostered pride ; 
and before Countess. Louise Steinthal reached her 
nineteenth birthday, she was even colder, haughtier, 
and more self-reliant than her mother. 


Leo’s return. 


187 


CHAPTER X. 

Leo’s return. 

“ And when did you leave Rotterdam ? ” said Herr 
Berger to his son Leo, who had just returned from 
England. 

“ The evening of the day before yesterday, 
father. I might have been here sooner ; but we 
had a rough passage, and I felt tired and remained 
over night in W.” 

“ Why you could certainly allow yourself that 
little time.” 

“ Yes, papa, but when a man has seen none of his 
friends for four years, he feels a great longing to 
get home.” 

“Four years! Is it really four years! True, 
you were two years in London, and two in Liver- 
pool.” 

“ I hope, father, you are satisfied with the con- 
nections I have commenced and partly concluded.” 

“ The connections ? ” asked the merchant, as if 
his attention had been wandering and he was 
forced to collect his thoughts. “ Ah ! yes,” he 


138 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


continued, and a shadow rested upon his fkce as he 
added : “ People cannot be sufficiently careful how 
they make connections now-a-days.” 

At these words the young man . looked at his 
father more earnestly, and was startled to see how 
old he appeared. But the shadow vanished from 
his brow, and with it a little of the anxious, care- 
worn expression. Leo felt relieved, and said cheer- 
fully: “I hope you have not met with losses 
through any of the firms with which I have brought 
you in connection; they are all houses of high 
standing, and perfectly safe.” 

“ May be so, may be so,” replied the old man, 
and the shadow re-appeared more distinctly, and 
darker than before ; “ but as I said just now, 
people can hardly be careful enough.” 

“ You make me anxious. Tell me, have the firms 
I recommended been in any way injurious to you ? ” 
And as the merchant kept silence, Leo continued, 
as if speaking to himself; “I can’t think so; 
there are no more respectable, solid houses in 
England.” 

His father pushed the bottle of Burgundy towards 
him that he might fill his glass, offered him the 
box of cigars, gazing at him all the time with a 
grave, thoughtful look, and aS Leo was trying to 
light one, asked suddenly, “ What do you think of 
the house of C. & Co. in K. ? ” 

“ Father, do you think — ” asked Leo, raising his 
eyes in alarm, so strangely sharp was the tone. 


Leo’s return. 


139 


“Why, of course. I mean the banking house 
of C. Co. Whom else should I mean ? ” 

“ Yes, yes I But you don’t suppose — you don’t 
think — it couldn’t — ? What, you shake your head ! 
That old house is as firm as Rome.” 

“ Do you think so ? True, everyone believes it. 
Well — I did not make the connection with that 
house, it was formed in your grandfather’s time.” 

“ Yes, that is . true,” Leo assented, not a little 
surprised by the gloomy manner in which his 
father alluded to the old, well-known firm. “ I re- 
member that C. & Co., were often mentioned in 
grandpapa’s lifetime.” 

“ And if that were not so,” said the merchant, 
“ the books would prove it.” Then he relapsed 
into silence, and gazed absently before him. 

Leo felt more and more uneasy. He had been 
affectionately welcomed by his father on his arrival 
scarcely two hours before ; the old gentleman had 
noticed with evident pleasure his son’s handsome 
person, and quiet, manly bearing, and had assured 
him over and over again, with the utmost warmth, 
of his happiness in having him back once more. 
But then he became silent, variable, and absent- 
minded, and his evident struggle to rouse himself 
from his thoughts was unsuccessful. What could 
have produced such an effect upon the usually 
clear headed, and remarkably cheerful man ? Was 
he ill, or had he some hidden sorrow or care ? Leo 
vainly puzzled over the matter, and at last, half to 


140 


NOT IN THEIR SET 


break the painful silence, half because he desired 
to hear some news of his brother, said : “You have 
told me nothing about Rudolph, father.” 

“About Rudolph? Yes, but what have I to 
tell? We will go over to M. in a few days ; you 
probably wish to see him again.” 

“ Certainly, I am very anxious to do so. But 
what sort of a person is his wife ? ” 

“ Oh ! she is a most charming, clever little 
woman, and belongs to a good family, as you know. 
Tlie Hagendorfs have been established in M. two 
hundred years, and always conducted their busi- 
ness with success as well as prudence. There are 
only two children besides my daughter-in-law, her 
brother Gerhard, and her sister who married the 
merchant Brand, several years ago ; that, too is a 
very good house.” 

“ I believe I have lieard of it. But Rudolph — has 
he become a partner in his father-in-law’s busi- 
ness ? ” 

“ Certainly ; and when the old man dies, he will 
continue with his brother-in-law, Gerhard Hagen- 
dorf. Or, really ” — the old gentleman leaned for- 
ward over the table, and lowered his voice — 
“ Rudolph will really manage the business alone, 
for between ourselves, Gerhard has very little 
sense, and allows himself to be guided in every- 
thing by Rudolph, which is the best thing for 
both.” 

“ His sister, on the contrary, you say is a clever 
woman.” 


leg’s eetukn. 


141 


“ She is very clever, very prudent. She governs 
her household by line and rule, and keeps an eye 
on everything. There always seems to be enough ; 
but there is not a crumb wasted, and I sure it 
would not escape her if the cook peeled an extra 
potatoe.” 

“ So she is an excellent housekeeper,” said Leo, 
mechanically. 

“Yes, indeed; but far more than that. She can 
converse upon any subject like a book, and knows 
how to represent it so that people are perfectly 
amazed. When the supervisor of the factories in 
M., came here a short time ago on a tour of inspec- 
tion, old Hagendorf gave him a dinner, and as his 
wife is dead, Emma did the honors. It is a pity 
that you did not see her ; she was in all her glory. 
The supervisor paid the old man one compliment 
after another about his charming daughter, and her 
exquisite manners. Your brother was almost crazy 
with pride.” 

The old man related several other traits in the 
character of his clever, brilliant daughter-in-law, 
and praised the wise choice of his eldest son, while 
Leo meantime became very silent, almost sad. At 
last he rose suddenly, and asked with evident effort, 
“ Have you heard any news from the moor, 
father ? ” 

“ From the moor ? ” replied Berger in surprise 
“ What moor ? ” 

“Why, the moor — old Jost.” 


142 


NOT THEIR SET. 


“The old broom-maker!” exclaimed Berger, 
and it was hard to decide whether the tone be- 
trayed more horror or disgust. I thought that 
folly would be forgotten, my boy.” 

“ It is no folly, father, and I have not forgotten 
it,” replied Leo with apparent composure, although 
secretly trembling with agitation. 

“ Be reasonable, Leo,” said his father sternly, 
“ you ought to be ashamed to return to such child- 
ish follies, now you are a man.” 

“ You are mistaken, lather,” replied Leo warmly, 
“ it is no childish folly, but a deep, earnest love. 
It took root in my earliest boyhood, grew firmer 
through my innocent youth, and it has matured and 
strengthened during the painful separation you im- 
posed upon us.” 

The old. man pushed his wine-glass away so im- 
patiently that he sadly marred the bright polish of 
the mahogany table, and said almost with a groan, 
“ I really did not exjiect you to continue raving 
mad after I had allowed you so much time to come 
to your senses, but you may be assured of one 
thing ; I will never give my consent to such a crazy 
marriage.” 

“ But, father, when you required me to promise 
that for the space of two years, I would neither see 
Margarethe, write to her, send her a message, nor 
receive one from her, you promised on your side, 
that if after this lapse of time I could still find my 
happiness in a marriage with her, you would per- 


leg’s ketuen. 


143 


mit me to provide for her education, and then 
make her my wife.” 

“I gave that promise under a mistaken impres- 
sion,” said Berger sullenly, “ and therefore, I am 
not bound to fulfill it.” 

“Under a mistaken impression?” asked Leo, 
witli ill-suppressed indignation. “ Have I not 
rigidly complied with all the conditions you 
exacted ? Have not the two years you at first re- 
quired, become four ? ” 

“ I don’t mean that,” replied his father in the 
same tone, “ I could not expect that after you had 
been given so much time and opportunity to forget 
your folly, and see how preposterous your wishes 
were, you would still be perverse enough to per- 
sist in them.” 

“ Perverse enough ? Oh ! father, do you call 
love and faith perversity ? ” 

“ In this case, yes.” 

“ But I cannot desert Margarethe, father ; and 
you ought not to hold your word so lightly. It 
was a father’s solemn promise, and it will be the 
heaviest possible grief to me if you break it.” 

“For my j^art,” exclaimed the old man in a vio- 
lent passion, “ I would far rather see you unhappy 
than wedded to a dishonored girl. If she were 
only a day laborer’s daughter ! But, no, she is the 
unknown descendant of some aristocratic rake — a 
beggar, and branded with shame ! I owe it to your 
brother not to consent to your insane desire. The 


144 


NOT IN THEIE SET. 


broom-maker’s foimdling ! A pretty sister-in-law 
for • Emma Ilagendorf.” He rose with a loud, 
scornful laugh, and left the room banging the door 
behind him. 

This was Leo’s first evening at home. With a 
heavy sigh he leaned his head upon his hand and 
gave himself up to a train of anxious, sorrowful 
thoughts. He saw clearly that it would be a great 
sacrifice for his father to consent to his mar- 
riage with poor Margarethe. The older he had 
grown, and the more he had mingled in the society 
of aristocratic merchants and their families, the 
more plainly he had perceived how reluctantly his 
father would consent to his wdshes ; but hitherto 
he nad hoped to touch his heart by obedience and 
faithful zeal. How he perceived that he had not only 
deceived himself, but a fresh obstacle had arisen in 
his brother’s marriage. The HagendorTs pride 
was equal to the age and wealth of their house, and 
they ^were, moreover, so full of the spirit of caste, 
that they considered every other calling far less 
honorable than that of a merchant, and looked 
down upon all who did not belong to the money 
aristocracy with far more contempt than was ever 
bestowed upon the burgher classes, by the aristoc- 
racy of birth. Besides, their haughtiness assumed 
far more unpleasant forms than that of the nobility. 
It expressed itself with equal egotism and want of 
consideration ; but instead of the cold, courteous 
condescension by which, however insolent they 


leg’s eetukn. 


145 


may really be, the nobles always strive to avoid 
any outward appearance of it, the Hagendorfs 
pride was often mingled with such overbearing 
rudeness, such want of civility, that one conld 
scarcely give it any other name than coarseness. 
What would they probably say if it was sug 
gested to them to enter into family relations with 
the nameless foster-child of a poor day-laborer? 
How pitilessly such people would reproach the 
young girl with her poverty, and above all with her 
unknown parentage. 

In comparison with these personal anxieties, 
other cares which had been aroused by his conver- 
sation with his father, receded into the background, 
but he could not wholly dismiss them from his 
mind. His father’s pre-occupation, the dark allu- 
sions to the house of C. & Co., and his frequent 
reveiies, betrayed that he also had some secret 
anxiety. At any other time his filial interest in 
everything his father seemed to wish to conceal, 
would have induced him to try to fathom the secret 
trouble; and, besides, although not naturally a 
merchant, his whole education had inspired him 
with too much caution for him to be indifferent to 
the slightest warning that the house had suffered 
loss; but to-day, as before mentioned, he could 
scarcely give the matter a passing thought. He 
recurred again and again to his own personal griefs, 
and strove to find some means to make his duty as 
a son harmonize with his wishes as a lover. But 


146 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


all his reflections showed him nothing but the one 
faint* hope that his father’s heart might at last be 
touched by his constant faith, and Margarethe’s 
noble nature. 

The flnal result of his meditations was the reso- 
lution to go to the moor early the next morning, 
and see Margarethe once more after their long sep- 
aration. The promise he had given his father 
no longer bound him in this respect, and with joy- 
ful agitation he dwelt for a moment on the thought 
of the meeting ; but the next instant the vision 
was clouded by an anxious doubt. How should he 
find Margarethe ? Had she followed his requests, 
his wishes ? Had she held aloof from the rude, 
coarse people who surrounded her, and sought to 
improve her mind in the way he had planned ? Or^ 
wearied by her solitary, joyless existence, had she 
gradually sunk to the level of her wretched home ? 

He could not longer pursue this train of thought, 
and left the room to seek his couch. 


A BIITEK DISAPPOINTMENT. 


147 


(i 


CHAPTER XL 

A BITTER DISAPPOINTMENT, 

The following morning he set out on his walk to the 
moor with sorrowful forebodings and a heavy 
heart. When he left the last houses of the city behind 
him, and emerged into the open country, with the 
beautiful fresh May morning breathing forth its 
fragrance around him, two other spring days he 
had spent on the moor, both of which had been so 
important and memorable, recurred to his mind. 
One brought back the recollection of the warm, 
sunny May day when he first saw Margarethe, 
then a poor, helpless child, sittmg in a basket of 
wild flowers and begging for a drink of water. 
The other, was the day on which he took his last 
farewell of the blooming maiden ; her face, pure 
and beautiful as it had looked in that hour, ap- 
peared so vividly before him that he could no longer 
think of any change, fear any alteration. 

Thus he reached the old beech-tree, and almost 
wondered that Margarethe was not waiting for him 
under its shadow; then he saw the roof of Jost’s 


148 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


miserable hut appear behind the wall of earth, and 
thought then she would surely rush joyfully to 
meet him, and so at last ascended the hillock with 
a beating heart. Jost’s cottage stood before him ; 
but no Margarethe appeared. 

The old broom-maker was sitting before the 
house on the wooden block, with the dry heather, 
wet bark, and a pile of finished brooms around him. 
His face was as bronzed, and his bristling hair as 
thick as ever, but the locks had grown white, and the 
old man’s back seemed somewhat more bowed than 
before. Things could not have gone badly with 
him, for the wooden gable of the hopse was neatly 
mended, the windows and door were freshly painted, 
and the garden had a pretty new fence. 

At the sound of Leo’s step, the old man looked 
up from his work, laid the half-finished broom on 
his knee, and opened his eyes in astonishment as he 
looked at the fashionably attired young man before 
him. 

“ Good morning, Jost. Don’t you know me?” 
cried Leo. 

Jost arose and went slowly forwards to meet his 
visitor, without making any other reply than a 
stiff, thoughtful shake of the head. 

“ How is Gretchen ? ” continued Leo. “ Is she 
at home ? ” 

“Oh! oh!” replied Jost, opening his eyes still 
wider. “ Lord have mercy on us ! Is it really Jie f ” 

“ Of course it is I,” said Leo holding out his 
hand. “ Do you know me at last, old friend ? ” 


A BITTER DISAPPOINTMEXT. 


149 


‘‘I would never have believed it,” murmured 
Jost, shaking his head, “ never.” 

“What wouldn’t you have believed, Jost?” 
asked Leo, his eyes wandering from the window to 
the door, and then to the garden, 

“ That the gentleman would ever have come back 
again.” 

“ I know,” replied Leo with a troubled expres- 
sion, “ I was obliged to stay away much longer 
than was first proposed. But Margaretlie, did not 
she believe I would return ? ” 

Jost looked at him in surprise, and answered : 
“Lord, how can he ask me that? I don’t know.” 

“ Don’t know ? Does she never speak of a^e ? ” 

“ Why, sir, I don’t know that either.” 

“Don’t know? Jost, what does this mean? 
But let me speak to her myself. Call her, or let 
me go in.” 

As he was hurrying by the old man to enter the 
house, the latter stopped him. “Wliat does he 
want there? ” Jost said to liimsclf, in still greater 
perplexity. “ Does he think she is still liere ? 
No, that’s too silly. Don’t he know she has been 
gone a long time ? ” 

“ Gone,^’ cried Leo turning pale. “ And a long 
time ago ? My God, where is she ? Jost, for 
Heaven’s sake, tell me where she is.” 

Jost shook his head : “ No, I must not.” 

“You must not ? But who can have forbidden 
you ? Yet I need not ask — my father.” 


150 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


“NOj no, hekiio'ws nothing about it himself.’^ 

‘‘My father knows nothing about it. But you, 
Jost, you must surely know where she is.” 

“I? yes, of course I know,” replied Jost with 
his sly smile ; “ but what good will that do you, 
sir ? ” 

“None, unless you tell me; but you will surely 
do that ? ” 

“No, I surely will not; I have already told you 
I must not. 

“ Who can have forbidden you ? ” 

“No one, unless I choose to have it so,” replied 
the broom-maker with a flush of pride. “He is 
quite right there. When I say ‘I must not,’ I 
mean I won’t.” 

Leo saw that it would be a difficult matter to 
conquer the old man’s obstinacy, and overwhelmed 
by grief, sank exhausted upon the broom-maker’s 
rough seat. Jost kept silence for some time ; but 
when he saw the young man, whom he had always 
seen so gay, bright and animated, looking so pale, 
and gazing so sadly into vacancy, he was moved 
with compassion. “ I am sorry for the young gen- 
tleman,” said he, “ but I can’t help him, and even 
if he knew where she was, he would be no better 
off than he is now.” 

“Yes, yes, Jost, I should know whether I might 
still hope, or at least the reason why I must resign 
all hope. I beg you at least to tell me as much of 
what has happened, as you can without doing 
violence to vour conscience.” 


A BITTER DISAPPOINTME]NIT. 


151 


‘‘ I believe the gentleman is right,” said Jost, 
seating himself thoughtfully on the pile of heather 
opposite Leo. “ If he can’t hear from me where 
she is, he shall know how it came about. But his 
father has nothing to do with it ; he only came 
twice, at first, before she went away.” 

“So my father was here?” asked Leo, with 
newly roused suspicion. 

“ Yes, and he wanted to persuade me to send her 
away into some service which he said he had found 
for her ; but I wouldn’t and couldn’t. The child 
was placed in my care, and if I didn’t wish to keep 
her I needn’t ; but only her relatives had a right 
to provide for her in any other way.” 

“ Her relatives ? Does she know them ? ” 

“Yes, one,” replied Jost curtly. 

“ Who is he ? Where does he live ? ” 

“ That is what the gentleman won’t find out 
from me.” 

“ But why not, Jost ? ” 

“The gentleman, the gentleman who is related 
to her, I mean, bound me on oath to tell nobody, 
especially you. As I saw that this gentleman was 
right, and that it was best for you as well as for her 
if you never saw Margarethe again, I solemnly 
promised never to betray his name or where he 
lives to anyone.” 

“ But, Jost, do listen to reason. What harm can 
it do Margarethe or me to see each other again ? ” 

Jost shrugged his shoulders. “ I don’t know. 


152 


KOT IN THEIK SET. 


sir; but I tbink many things might liappen that 
would do no good, and I don’t believe any good 
could come of it.” 

“AVhy not, dost? lam sure Margarethe has 
not forgotten me, any more than I her. Why 
should we not marry if we are still faithful to each 
other ? ” 

“ Has his father given his consent ? ” asked dost, 
dryly. 

“ He promised it before I went to England,” re- 
plied Leo evasively. 

“ And now,” said dost, half to himself, “ the old 
gentleman will keep quiet because he knows Mar- 
garethe has gone, and I won’t tell the young master 
where she is.” 

“ Does my father know that ? ” asked Leo eag- 
erly. “ He did not utter a syllable about it.” 

“ Ha ! ha ! ha ! ” laughed dost. “ His papa is 
very wise ; he thought he would hear it soon enough 
if he came to the* old broom-maker. That is,” he 
continued addressing himself directly to Leo, “ the 
old gentleman knows she has gone, but nothing 
more, and is contented to have it so.” 

Leo fully believed the old man, and asked whether 
he would not tell him how long Margarethe had 
been away, in what circumstances she was living, 
and whether he thought her position would bo 
better, hoping in this way to learn something which 
might serve him as a clue in the inquiries he in- 
tended to commence without delay. But the old man 


A BITTER DISAPPOINTMENT. 


153 


was very crafty. He said that an old gentleman, 
her mother’s uncle, had taken Margarethe away 
more than three years before, that she was living 
with him, and reared like a princess, could play on 
the piano, embroider bright colored flowers, and 
paint. She had visited him twice since she went 
away, and each time drove up in a carriage with 
her great-uncle. The last visit was made a month 
ago. She always brought with her money, and 
articles of value ; bags full of tobacco, cofiee, sugar, 
rice, and flour, far better than they had ever had in 
the house before, and new clothes for himself and 
Ann-Trine. The last time she had also had the 
house painted, and the roof mended. She went to 
see Annchen, of Nordhecke, too, and gave her a 
handsome black dress. 

No questions no matter how cunningly worded, 
no entreaties, however urgent, could induce the old 
man to disclose anything farther concerning the resi- 
dence and circumstances of his former foster-child. 
His own opinion of the matter, as well as the promise 
he had given, seemed to make his silence impene- 
trable. The only concession Leo could obtain, was 
that he would tell Margarethe and her uncle of his 
visit, and urgent entreaty to be allowed a speedy 
meeting with his beloved, the next time he wrote 
to them through the schoolmaster. Hut Jost also 
informed him that the schoolmaster would not 
write at present. It had been arranged that Mar- 
garethe should hear from him every three months ; 


154 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


and it was only four weeks since she left the moor, 
so she would not have a letter for two months. 
Nothing could induce the old man to yield any- 
thing more, and he concluded with his cunning 
smile : “ The young gentleman is mistaken if he 
thinks he can get the address from the school- 
master; for he don’t know it himself. Old dost 
takes the letter to a gentleman he can’t name, and 
he attends to it.” 

^Depressed and saddened, Leo took leave of the old 
man who looked after his retreating figure with a 
troubled glance. Indifferent as he had appeared, 
he was far too much attached to the young fellow 
not to sympathize with his grief, and his rough 
nature was touched by Leo’s constancy. But he 
knew old Berger’s pride, and the stain which rested 
upon Margarethe, and was determined to do noth- 
ing to bring about a marriage from which he could 
foresee no good result. 

Instead of going directly home, Leo went round 
to see Anna of Nordhecke. The little old woman 
was amazed at his visit, and repeatedly expressed 
her astonishment that Fraulein Gretchon was right 
the first time she came there and said Leo had not 
forgotten her. But when she was there last Easter, 
she no longer thought Herr Berger would still re- 
member her, and said it was better for him. The 
next time the schoolmaster wrote, Fraulein Gretchen 
should learn everything ; for even if they were never 
permitted to see or speak to each other again, she 


A BITTEll DISAPrOINTMENT. 


155 


certainly ought to know, because it would please 
her to hear good things of him. 

The sympathy Margarethe’s old friend showed 
him, induced Leo to hope that he might learn from 
her farther particulars of his vanished love. But 
in this respect she was as firmly bound by promises, 
and as resolute as old dost himself. She said Frau- 
lein Gretchen plainly understood that she ought 
not to marry Herr Berger, and, therefore, saw her- 
self, it would be best for them to cherish pleasant 
memories of each other, but to make no efforts to 
meet again. But sensible as the little milliner 
proved to be in regard to the principal matter, she 
was more soft-hearted than the old broom-maker, 
or, at any rate, more inclined to chatter. She 
therefore gave the attentive young man a full de- 
scription of F.raulein Gretchen’s costly, beautiful 
dresses, the dainty gold chain she wore around her 
neck, and the veil and flow.ers on her bonnet. Leo 
also learned that Margarethe had grown taller, and 
— at least in Anncheji’s eyes — far more beautiful, 
and her whole appearance was just like “one of the 
aristocrat’s,” though she still was as simple and 
cordial as a child. 

“ And was she in good spirits ? ” asked Leo. 
“ Did she seem contented and happy ? ” 

“ Well, how am I to answer ? ” replied Annchen. 
“ She was very fond of the old gentleman, her 
uncle, who came with her; a blind man could have 
seen that ; and he could not have been more affec- 


156 


NOT IN THEIK SET. 


tionate and thoughtful to his own child. But she 
did not seem quite so light hearted as she used to 
be.” 

This remark both pleased and grieved the young 
man ; on the one hand it seemed to aflbrd a proof 
that Margarethe was faithful to the past as well as 
himself, while on the other, the idea weighed upon 
his mind that the improvement was merely ex- 
ternal. 

He returned home just as night was closing in, 
and took tea with bis father. The conversation 
turned upon the new buildings in the city, the 
changes that had taken place in prominent families, 
politics, and business interests ; but neither alluded 
to the subject that lay nearest their hearts. The old 
man occasionally noticed his son’s dejection, and 
each time it seemed to irritate and annoy him, 
while Leo perceived that his father was the victim 
of constant anxiety,, which not only affected his 
movements, and betrayed itself in his eyes, but ren- 
dered it impossible for him to fix his thoughts for 
any length of time upon the subject of the conversa- 
tion. He often started up, made curt, absent re- 
plies, addressed sudden questions to his son which 
had no connection \tith his pirevious words, or 
stared at him as if his most ordinary remarks were 
utterly incomprehensible. Thus when Leo at last 
found himself alone in his sleepijig-room, he felt 
as if he had a double burden upon his heart. Be- 
sides the grief aroused by the disappointment of 


A BITTER DISAPPOINTMENT. 


157 


his own dearest hopes, he sulSered from the knowl- 
edge that his father was threatened with some mis- 
fortune, which seemed all the greater because he 
was unable to form any conjecture of its nature or 
extent. 


Ibis 


NOT IN Til El JR SET. 


CHAPTER XII. 

THE HAGENDOEFS. 

We now enter a handsome apartment, bright, 
lofty, and spacious, but so overloaded with furni- 
ture and ornaments of every description that it 
almost seems contracted. The articles of furniture 
are all good and solid, well arranged, and in perfect 
harmony with each other, and the eye is instantly 
attracted by the remarkable neatness and order of 
the room. It is no state-chamber ; the piano, a 
small book-case, a work-table, and a basket of keys 
prove it to be ^the ordinary sitting-room of the 
mistress of the house, but in spite of these, it 
lacks the air of cheerful ease which often makes 
such apartments attractive and homelike, even to 
strangers. It was not because everything was too 
new that the handsome chamber lacked this special 
charm; the cause lay rather in the circumstance 
that one distinctly, though unconsciously felt, that 
all the manifold objects which filled the space were 
not there merely to be used, but rather because of 
the idea that people must have them. 


THE IIAGENDOEFS. 


159 


At the window — ^but not at the one where the 
work-table stands — sits a tall, handsome woman. 
Her features are regular and intelligent ; her figure 
slender and rounded, and her manner easy and 
self-possessed. With all the advantages afibrded 
by her youthful grace, and a dress well-chosen, 
though almost too rich for the house, she must have 
been extremely attractive had not an unmistakable 
expression of self-consciousness, bordering upon 
pride, marred the fresh beautiful vision. She sits 
in her chair as if she had just taken it for a moment 
and would immediately rise again, but holds in her 
hand a newspaper, which she seems at this moment 
to be eagerly and attentively reading, yet she soon 
looks away as if gazing into vacancy, and then re- 
sumes her occupation with apparent interest. 

Although, as before mentioned, it seems as if 
she had merely taken her seat by chance, she keeps 
it quite a long time, indeed until the door opens, 
and a handsome young man enters the room. Even 
noAV she does not rise, but looks upon the sheet and 
asks in a somewhat loud, but pleasant voice : 
“ What time is it, Rudolph ? ” 

“Half past three, Emma,” he ansAvers. “It 
would be well for you to see that everything is in 
order.” 

“ That was done long ago,” replied the lady. 

“ But I see no preparations, my dear child.” 

“ None here, of course, but — ” 

“ But,” interrupted the young man in astonish • 


160 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


ment, “ do you intend to receive papa and Leo in 
the drawing-room ? That would he quite too stiff 
and ceremonious.” 

“ I do not think so,” replied Emma, not without 
a certain sharpness in her tone, “You surely ought 
to know by this time, that it is not my custom to 
receive my guests behind coffee-pots and mountains 
of cake, like your father’s old housekeeper.” 

An expression of annoyance appeared on the 
young man’s face, but he controlled himself, and 
said quietly, “ Very well, Emma. If you say you 
have prepared everything, I’m satisfied, even if I 
don’t see it.” 

“ And you may be,” replied the beautiful woman, 
her good-nature again restored. “ But I wanted to 
call your attention to something I have just found 

in the paper. D is playing in K. We must go 

over there to see him in a few days.” 

“ My dear child, I am afraid it is impossible.” 

“ I hope you will not deny me so great a pleasure, 
Rudolph.” 

“ I do so very unwillingly, Emma. You know 
how gladly I gratify all reasonable wishes ; but — ” 

She interrupted quickly, almost violently : “ But 
you think this wish unreasonable ? I do not un- 
derstand you, Rudolph. If I were still unmarried, 
every one would think it a matter of course for 

Emma Hagendorf to go to K. to see D act. 

But, to be sure, Frau Berger is not Emma Hagen- 
dorf, and her husband considers it a very prepos- 


THE HAGENDORFS. 


161 


terons request for her to ask him to take her to K. 
to visit the theatre.” 

“ Emma, Emma, how you do fly into a passion,” 
replied the young husband, who was as much iiri- 
tated as his wife. “ Who has thought your wish 
unreasonable ? Wlio talked about preposterous re- 
quests ? Certainly not I.” 

“•No ; but you refused, and thereby showed what 
you thought of my wish,” replied the lady in a 
very sharp tone. 

“If you would allow me to finish what I was 
going to say,” observed Rudolph ‘ growing more 
and more angry. 

“That is what you always do. As soon as you 
have said anything that hurts my feelings, you de- 
clare I would not let you finish.” 

The young man’s anger now broke forth openly. 
“ This is not to be endured,” he exclaimed in a still 
louder tone. “ I hurt your feelings because I re- 
gretted that it would be impossible for me to ac- 
company you to K. You drive me too far, Emma; 
a saint could not keep his patience ?” 

“ A saint ! ” she exclaimed with a jeering laugh. 
“ I never heard of a stubborn saint, and that you 
are stubborn, my friend, I suppose you will hardly 
deny.” 

“T, stubborn ? No one ever accused ir.n of it 
before,” cried the young man, growing still more 
angry. “ How will you prove it ? ” 

“ That is no difficult matter,” inswered Frau 


162 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


Berger witn mocking composure, which increased 
her husband’s irritation. “I need only express a 
wish or make a proposal, to be sure that you will 
want to do the contrary. If this is not stubborn- 
ness, I know nothing about that estimable quality.” 

‘‘ If you would only hear my reasons ! ” he ex- 
claimed. 

“ Reasons ? Have you any reasons ? But pray 
spare me a litany of large expenditures and unnec- 
essary expense. I am a daughter of the firm, and 
know how far I can go.” 

“ I never thought of alluding to such matters ; 
the expense, of course, was not the reason why I 
thought I should be unable to gratify your Avish. 
You can, however, go toK. yourself; Gerhard Avill 
accompany you.” 

“ Gerhard,” she interrupted with a fresh burst of 
indignation ; “ you surely know that I will not ap- 
pear in any strange place Avith him. Here one can 
go in his company; for everyone knows and re- 
spects the name of Hagendorf ; but it is very dif- 
ferent there, where Ave are not known.” 

“ True, there people would not respect the son of 
the firm,” said Rudolph, dryly. “ Well, perhaps 
your father will accompany you ; I shall not be 
able to do so, as I said before, because I shall 
probably be obliged to go to D. to-morrow, or the 
day after, to remain several days.” 

“ To D. for several days ? ” asked his wife in aston- 
ishment, leaving — probably out of curiosity — the 


THE HAGENDOEFS. 


163 


sarcasm upon the firm unnoticed. “What have 
.you to do in D,, and why must you stay so long ? ” 

“Business, child, and business of considerable 
importance.” 

“ Do you still retain an interest in your father’s 
business ? ” 

“ Yes, in various ways. My share of my 
mother’s property is still invested in it, as well as 
Leo’s; for when my brother Avent to England it 
was arranged that my portion should be paid me on 
his return, because at that time he was under age, 
and my dead mother Avished to have her sons re- 
ceive her bequest at the same time. When Ave 
were married, a year after Leo’s departure, and sev- 
eral months after he attained his majority, my 
father offered to pay me the sum then due, and 
place Leo’s portion at his disposal, but your father 
declined the proposal on the pretext that he did not 
wish the existing arrangement to be disturbed on 
3^our account, and proposed to divide the Berger 
property into three equal portions, one of which 
was to be given to me, and the second to Leo, 
while my father Avas to retain the third ; and this 
portion, whether it increased or diminished, Avas to 
be equally divided at his death, betAveen Leo and 
myself. 

Emma listened to her husband Avith an attentive 
interest Avhich only a Avoinan Avho took a real mer- 
chant’s interest in money matters could bestOAv. 
“You say,” she replied, “my father declined the 


164 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


payment of your mother’s inheritance on the pre^ 
text that the arrangement with your brother ought 
not to be disturbed. Do you think that was not 
the real reason why he made a different proposal to 
your father ? ” 

“ Old Hagendorf,” said Rudolph with a peculiar 
smile, “is a clever merchant; he understands how 
to calculate. In the first place, he rightly supposed 
that my third of my father’s present property 
would be much larger than half of my mother’s 
legacy, and thus the firm of Hagendorf would be 
more benefited by the former plan than the latter. 
Ill the second place, even the most clever and cau- 
tious merchant may meet with reverses, especially 
in such times as we had three years ago, when the 
beginning of the July revolution threatened the 
peace of all Europe. If the Berger firm should 
meet with misfortunes, it would affect me very 
little ; for my mother’s fortune is so secured that, 
even in case of failure, the creditors could not touch 
it, and of all that I could expect from my father, 
only a small portion remained in his hands at our 
marriage.” 

“ Yes, my father is very sharp-sighted,” said 
Emma with an expression which showed her sin- 
cere approbation of old Ilagendorf’s prudent, but- 
selfish management. “ But your father — did he 
not see through his designs ? ” 

“ Old Berger,” replied Rudolph with the same 
ironical smile, “ is no less keen-sighted than the head 


THE HAGENDORFS. 


'165 


of the Hagendorf firm. He not only saw through 
your papa’s views, but told him plainly that he per* 
ceived his design ; but thought it fully justified by 
its motive, anxiety for the Avelfare of his daughter 
and son-in-law, and added, that our future was no 
less dear to him than to your father, and for this 
reason he would willingly accede to his request.” 

“ That was very handsome in him,” said Emma, 
gravely, with an approving glance. 

“ Certainly,” said Rudolph, “ and I was very glad, 
first, because our marriage thus escaped the painful 
discussions which so easily spring from questions of 
meiim and timm^ and, secondly, because it was best 
for my personal advantage. But I think had Leo 
been your husband instead of me, your father 
would not have found it so easy to induce mine to 
consent to his wishes.” 

“Why?” 

“Well, Leo was never a special favoiite of 
l^apa’s ; he has not the true mercantile spirit, and it 
vexes the old gentleman. Besides, that affair with 
the peasant girl made him furious with the foolish 
fellow.” 

“ I can’t blame your father for either. A mer- 
chant who does not enter into his business, heart 
and soul, will never accomplish anything, and how 
a man of good family and education can wish to 
throw himself away upon such a miserable creature, 
is utterly incomprehensible to me.” 

The beautiful woman was perfectly sincere ; yet 


166 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


she looked forward to the meeting with her young 
brother-in-law with a sort of impatient curiosity 
that had a tinge of romance. Her nature was one 
which united strangely opposite traits of character. 
Spoiled and wilful, she wished to have her own way, 
and always succeeded in doing so if she saw that it 
was for her own advantage. She was vivacious, 
even capable of passionate emotions, and gave her- 
self up to them without regard to the rights and 
feelings of others, or the demands of duty; but 
always strove to control them if she perceived that 
they might do her an injury. She liked to find in 
books, or the lives of strangers, unusual events, 
acts, and feelings, which passed beyond the bounds 
of custom, but she herself was never harmed or 
even touched by such things, and was therefore in- 
capable of any romance in act or judgment. In 
short, she had no unvarying rule of conduct, and 
when she goveraed her temper and passions, it was 
never from principle, but for her own advantage. 

When, half an hour after the conversation just 
mentioned, her father-in-law arrived with his 
younger son, she received both with great cordial- 
ity. Slie understood the art of showing a warm 
interest, and at the same time displaying so much 
discrimination that one could not suppose it was 
lightly and carelessly bestowed, and was especially 
skillful in revealing her regard for a person, by some 
apparently insignificant word or act, without fall- 
ing into the error of flattery. She had intellect 


THE HAGENDORFS. 


167 


and tact enough to please men whenever she at- 
tempted to do so, and although not entirely free 
from vanity, to which a young and beautiful woman 
yields almost against her will, she had never com- 
mitted the sin of coquetry. What saved her from 
it was difficult to decide ; perhaps it might have 
been her early marriage with a husband, whom in 
her own fashion, she loved. 

Her father-in-law was very fond of her, and she 
repaid him with the sincere respect of a child ; 
partly because be was the head of an old and highly 
esteemed firm, whose great wealth and extensive 
business connections no one had ever ventured to 
doubt, which in the eyes of a daughter of a mer- 
chant of equal rank and distinction, invested him 
with a certain halo ; partly because her father, on 
whose judgment she firmly relied, bore witness that 
he was an unusually keen-sighted, active, and well 
informed man ; and, finally, because the great af- 
fection he showed for her aroused an answering 
feeling in her heart. Thus the warmth with which 
she received him was perfectly sincere, and made 
the young wife appear all the more charming. It 
was partly for this reason that Leo’s first impression 
of her was a very favorable one, and perhaps the 
more so because his father’s description had not led 
him to expect it. 

She, herself was equally surprised at Leo’s ap- 
pearance and manners. The idea she had formed 
of him was wholly unfavorable. She had expected 


1G8 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


to find a young man of absent, somewhat awkward 
manners, who would betray his impractical nature 
at the first glance, and at the same time possessed 
of a certain rude abruptness such as strikes the in- 
habitants of the continent so unpleasantly in the 
sons of Albion, in whose society Leo had been for 
the last four years. But, instead of the somewhat 
handsome, inexpressive face her fancy had pictured, 
Leo’s frank, open features were far more regular 
and intelligent than his brother’s. His glance was 
clear and resolute, his manners assured, and so pol- 
ished that Emma was forced to acknowledge that, 
in this respect, at least, he had no peer in all her 
circle of acquaintances. But it she had expected 
to find him listless and dull in conversation, she had 
utterly deceived herself. He talked quietly, but 
very cleverly, and it was perfectly evident that he 
not only knew what he was saying, but perfectly 
understood what he meant to convey. 

“ And this,” thought Emma while she seemed to 
be listening to a conversation between his father 
and Herr Hagendorf, who had come in to greet the 
guests, “ this is the man who wanted to throw 
liimself away upon a miserable peasant girl. Im- 
possible! Of course she could form no judgment 
of his ability as a business man, but his other 
powers seemed to have been unusually cultivated 
for one of his station. Leo was deeply interested 
in all the prominent questions of the day, whether 
they concerned the domain of industry, politics, 
art, or science. 


THE HAGENDORFS. 


169 


In the course of the conversation Rudolph asked 
his father-in-law whether it would be possible for 
him to take his daughter to K. the following day, 
as Emma wished to see the famous actor, D 

“ I will make it possible, at any rate,” said Ilag- 
endorf; “but why don’t you go with your wife 
yourself? ” 

“ 1 am afraid I cannot make arrangements to 
do so.” 

“ But why not ? I don’t see why you can’t be 
absent a day from the counting-room as well, or 
better than I.” 

“ Certainly I can. I intend to remain away sev- 
eral days ; for I think my best course would be to 
accompany my father and Leo to D. to-day, and 
stay there until Sunday or Monday.” 

“ That is a very sensible wish,” said old Hagen- 
dorf, with a somewhat sarcastic smile, “ and I think 
your wife will make no objections to it. I see by 
her face that she has already been informed and 
given her consent.” 

“ It is very kind in you to spend with us the first 
few days I have to pass in the old home, Rudolph,” 
said Leo, affectionately holding out his hand to his 
brother, “ I thank you for the wish.” 

The sarcastic smile appeared on HagendorLs 
lips even more perceptibly. His daughter saw it, 
and thought , “ The young gentleman isn’t as cun- 
ning as my father; he knows what Rudolph wants 
much better.” 


170 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


Rudolph returned the pressure of his brother’s 
hand, with some surprise, and said dryly : “ Of 
course we shall be together in the old house if I 
come to D.; but I had something else in view when 
I made the proposal.” 

“ Well, of course you will visit me too,” replied 
his father ; “ but I shall not take it amiss if you 
confess that, this time, your brother from wliom you 
have been so long separated, is the principal 
person.” 

Rudolph’s astonishment increased as he saw his 
shrewd father, from whom he did not expect any- 
thing of the kind, impute to him a degree of family 
affection, of which he knew himself to be totally 
guiltless. “ But father — ” he began impatiently. 
The old man, as if he had not noticed the interrup- 
tion, calmly continued. “ I regret so much the 
more that I must request you to defer your visit a 
week or ten days.” 

“ Defer it ? What does that mean, father ? ” 

“ It is plain enough,” replied old Berger de- 
murely. “ If you regret to have the gratification 
of your desire to spend a few days with Leo de- 
layed, you are wise enough to see that business is 
more important than pleasure.” 

This was too much for Rudolph. His was not 
one of those weak natures which are embarrassed 
by having good qualities attributed to them which 
they are conscious they do not possess ; on the con- 
trary, it made him angry, and he now replied in a 


THE HAGEXDOIFS. 


171 


tone which he scarcely ever permitted himself to 
use towards liis father : Leo, always Leo ! I had 
no thought of him; we shall certainly enjoy the 
pleasure of his society sufficiently to-day. It never 
entered my head to visit you except on account of 
business matters, and as I have managed to endure 
my brother’s absence four years, without grieving 
myself to death, I can do so still longer.” 

Emma knew why Rudolph wished to go to D.; 
but although she thought the motive far more sen- 
sible than the one his father and brother imagined, 
she would gladly have had his insulting words un- 
spoken. She cast a hasty glance at her brotlier- 
in-law to discover what impression they had made 
upon him. His face was deeply flushed ; but she 
could not decide whether from indignation or 
shame, and she had no time to observe him more 
closely ; for her attention was claimed by the 
words her father-in-law now uttered with cutting 
coldness : 

“ I am glad to hear it, for as I said before, we 
shall not be able to receive )''ou until the first of 
next month, as I am particularly busy, and Leo 
leaves to-morrow to be absent a week or ten days.” 

“ Could not that be deferred, dear father ? ” said 
Leo in a beseeching tone. 

‘‘Ho, my boy, there is too much at stake.” 

“ At stake ? Wliat is at stake ? ” asked Rudolph, 
with an interest by no means delicate. 

A stern glance from Leo, beneath which Emma 


172 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


bliisbed, spite of her usual self-possession, seemed 
to say the same thing ; but he took no notice of it, 
and fixed his attention solely on his father, who re- 
plied with his usual composure : “ I have a consid- 
ei-able claim against a merchant in Bergefort, on 
the frontier of the Netherlands.” 

“ Wenniger, perliaps,” interrupted Rudolph eag- 
erly. 

“ Yes, I have received certain information that he 
will fail in a few days. Now, there is but one law- 
yer in Bergefort, a shrewd, skillful old fellow ; it 
would therefore be a critical matter for us if we did 
not win him for our sid6, and might be especially 
injurious if he should be made syndic of the stock. 
Although my claims are perfectly genuine, they are 
somewhat complicated, and legal assistance can do 
much for a poor merchant. I should go to Berge- 
fort, myself, if I could ; but as I shall be detained 
at home a week or ten days by various business 
matters, Leo must set out early to-morrow morn- 
ing and try to win the Justizrath over to our 
cause.” 

Such reasons were perfectly convincing to Ru- 
dolph, and with a desire to make amends for what 
had passed, he said : “ I beg your pardon, father, I 
did not know it.” 

“ Of course you could not know it. But another 
time, don’t be so rude when your father makes an 
arrangement of whose cause you are ignorant. 
Now' you can take advantage of the interval until 


THE IIAGEXDORFS. 


173 


Leo’s return, to go with your charming wife to the 
theatre at K. I will send word as soon as he comes 
back, that you may come to us without delay. We 
have some business matters to settle about your 
mother’s legacy, which 'can be transacted at the 
same time.” 

“That was the very reason I intended to go to 
D,”said Rudolph in a somewhat lower tone. 

“Very well, then our plans will agree,” said old 
Berger, and as he calmly uttered the words in his 
usual quiet manner, Hagendorf s face, which for the 
last few minutes had betrayed some little uneasi- 
ness, much as he had striven to conceal it, visibly 
brightened. No one had observed this, however, 
except his daughter who knew every change of ex- 
pression, but she had been unable to guess the 
cause. Now, however, she justly concluded that 
her father had been afraid Berger wished to put 
forward some pretext to defer the settlement with 
his son, and was glad that this did not seem to be 
the case. 

Hasty steps, and a loud disagreeable voice 
sounded in the hall, then some one knocked ; and 
at the same instant the door opened and a young 
man with a rather stout, clumsy figure, and plain 
face, entered the room, threw his cap upon the piano, 
and nodded to old Hagendorf and his daughter. 
Then he turned to Leo and his father, to whom he 
offered his hand, exclaiming with incredible rapid- 
ity : “ ’ Morning Herr Berger ! ’Moniing Herr Leo ! 


174 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


Just arrived? Had a pleasant journey ? Things 
go well in England ? Haven’t been borne long yet ? 
Well, welcome to M. But you can’t be satisfied 
here. I couldn’t, if I’d been away so long. I wish 
I could go, but papa won’t let me, and there’s 
nothing going on in M. Horribly stupid hei’e; 
we shall see how long you’ll stay.” 

Leo had been prepared to find Rudolph’s brother- 
in-law almost an idiot, but the reality even sur- 
passed the sorrowful idea he had formed. He was 
painfully affected by the young man’s behavior, less 
on his own account than for tire sake of his father and 
sister, who botli showed a shade of embarrassment. 
Young Hagendorf, on the contrary, did not seem to 
feel that there was anything wrong with him which 
was the most helpless symptom of all. 

Emma’s keen eyes instantly perceived how un- 
pleasantly Leo was afifected by her brother’s con- 
duct, and made an attempt to put a stop to it by 
taking advantage of the customs of society. “I 
believe the gentlemen do not yet know each other,” 
said she. “ My brother Gerhard — my brother — ” 

The attempt failed. Gerhard interrupted the in- 
troduction with aloud laugh. “Gracious, Emm- 
chen ! ” he exclaimed, “ for Heaven’s sake don’t 
think other people stupid, because you fancy your- 
self so clever. Do you suppose Herr Leo and I 
are so dull that we can’t guess who the other is? 
1 knew he was coming here to-day with his father, 
and you are so much like me that he would recog- 


THE IIAGENHORFS. l':5 

nize me from the resemblance. Isn’t that so, Herr 
Leo ? ” 

“ You do bear some resemblance to my beautiful 
sister-in-law, Herr Hagendorf,” replied Leo, bow- 
ing to both. 

“ But you mean I’m not so handsome,” inter- 
rupted Gerhard, laughing. “Well, that’s because 
she’s a lady. You can see she is always wiser than 
other people. You may be thankful you have no 
sister; mine rules us all — my father, myself, and 
her husband, and she ^really has no right to any- 
body but Rudolph.” 

“You are perfectly unbearable to-day, Gerliard,” 
said Emma in a tone of mingled jest and earnest 

“ Because I tell the truth ? Don’t you think its 
the truth, Herr Leo ? ” 

Rarely as old Hagendorf was embarrassed by his 
son’s conduct, to which he had long been accus- 
tomed, he felt annoyed by the contrast afforded by 
Leo’s calm, quiet maimer, and exclaimed almost 
sternly: “You must not tease your sister now, 
Gerhard ; we all expect to enjoy this afternoon with 
Rudolph’s brother.” 

“ Well, papa, if you don’t want any joking, I can 
be serious too,” said Gerliard, somewhat intimi- 
dated. “What were you talking aboul when I 
came in ? ” 

“ A little business trip young Herr Berger is 
about to take.” 

“ Ah 1 so you intend to go on a journey, Herr 


176 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


Leo. I never travel. I’ll tell you wliat ; you might 
take me with you.” 

This proposal was by no means agreeable to Leo, 
and he replied evasively, “ I would not advise you 
to join me, Herr Hagendorf ; for I fear my journey 
will be anything but a pleasure tour, either in its 
object or direction.” 

Old Hagendorf saw by his son’s face that, spite 
of the indirect refusal, he had not relinquished his 
intention of forcing his companionship upon his 
new acquaintance, and therefore said, to put an end 
to liis urgency : “ It is useless for you to think ot 
taking a journey just now ; you cannot be spared.” 

“ Can’t be spared ? You can’t spare me ? Ah ! 
papa, that’s a thing that never happened before. 
AYhy can’t I be spared ? ” 

“ Because Rudolph must go away.” 

“ He is always going away — everybody travels 
about, and I am never allowed to stick my nose 
outside of M.” 

“ Enough Gerhard,” said his father in a tone to 
which the shallow-headed, but obstinate young 
man was accustomed to yield without opposition, 
and then began a conversation with Leo, in which 
the others joined. Gerhard alone sat silent and 
sulky, but eating and drinking immoderately, until 
the departure of the guests, of whom he took leave 
sullenly, as if they, and not his father had baffled 
his desire to travel. 


THE MERCHANT AND HIS BOOK-KEEPER. 177 


CHAPTER XIII. 

THE MERCHANT AND HIS BOOK-KEEPER. 

Ob the homeward drive Herr Berger sat sullenly 
for some time beside his son, who also said nothing. 
Leo’s thoughts were lingering around the house he 
had just left, the people he had met there, and he 
sally told himself that Margarethe, poor simple 
little moorland flower, would never, never suit such 
relatives, such surroundings. This cold money- 
loving merchant and his equally haughty daughter, 
would always treat her with contempt. Moreover, 
Emma’s pride sprang from other causes than those 
which inspired her father ; for it was very evident 
she was quite as conscious of the charms of her 
mind and person, as the wealth she possessed, or 
the old name she bore, and perhaps even more so of 
the one she had possessed in her girlhood. It was 
not to be denied that, from her point of view, she 
was justified in such pride; for she was undoubt- 
edly beautiful, talented, and highly educated, and 


178 NOT IN THEIR SET. 

in the somewhat narrow circles in which she moved, 
was of great importance as the daughter of old 
Hagendorf, and the wife of Rudolph Berger, who 
was highly esteemed on account of his lather’s 
wealth, and his own business ability. With what 
eyes ’would such a lady look upon poor Gretchen as 
a sister-in-law ! How it would wound Herr Hag- 
endorfs feelings if any one^ suggested to h is 
daughter that she should receive such a poor mis- 
erable creature as a relative ! How enraged Ru- 
dolph Avould be at the insult offered to his family 
and himself ! ” 

At last, with a violent effort, old Berger roused 
himself from his reverie and asked, “How did you 
like your sister-in-law, my boy ? ” 

Leo replied by another question : “ How did 
Rudolph happen to make her acquaintance, papa! ” 

“ That is a very simple matter. Old Hagendorf 
wished to send his son away for a time, although 
he perceived that it would be of very little advan- 
tage to the poor boy ; but you know it is our 
custom to place our sons in other houses, as clerks 
for a year or more. As he could not send Gerhard 
far from home, he applied to me, and I did him the 
favor of taking the lad into my counting-room as a 
supernumerary. Thus in the most natural manner 
we were brought into social relations with each 
other, and the acquaintance between Rudolph and 
Emma took place as a matter of course.” 

“ Strange,” murmured Leo. 



Here Berger, the merchant 



i 


THE MEECHANT AND IIIS BOOK-KEEPER. liO 

“ Do you think so ? ” asked his father in aston- 
ishment. “ Why is it strange ? ” 

“ 1 merely meant, father, that it would not have 
been possible for me to fall in love with Emma if I 
had first become acquainted with her brother. 

“ Why not ? As you know, nothing renders it 
so easy to make the acquaintance of a young lady 
as the very circumstances of being on friendly 
terms with her brother.” 

“Yes ; but such a brother.” 

“Well, it is no disadvantage to Rudolph that 
Nature has somewhat neglected Gerhard. As I 
have already told you, the fact has no little in- 
creased Rudolph’s present and future importance in 
the Hagendorf business.” 

“ I don’t doubt it, father ; but if I had known 
Gerhard Hagendorf before I made his sister’s ac- 
quaintance, it would have been impossible for me to 
feel an ardent love for Emma, on account of the 
fatal resemblance she bears to him.” 

“ As if beautiful women did not often look like 
ugly men, without having the fact detract from 
their loveliness.” 

“Not in and of itself, dear father; but for in- 
stance, there is a quick, eager expression iu Emma’s 
eyes which would not repel me if I had not seen a 
similar look in her brother’s, which revealed only a 
low spirit of greed, and the air of self-possession 
and assurance that really pleased me on my first in- 
troduction to my sister-in-law, because it seemed to 


180 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


suit her tall, stately figure, became disagreeable as 
soon as I saw it reproduced in poor Gerhard’s face, 
where though merely betraying groundless conceit, 
it reminded one too strongly of the proud ciui of 
his sister’s lips.” 

“ Oh ! you are a fantastic fellow,” said old 
Berger peevishly. “ What’s the use of such foolish 
comparisons ? Emma is a very dear daughter-in- 
law to me, and I repeat that your brother’s choice 
does honor to himself and us. Would to God you 
might bring me a daughter whom I could love and 
esteem as highly as Rudolph’s wife.” 

Leo was silent ; for he felt more plainly than ever 
that on this point no understanding was possible 
between his father and himself. “ He would never 
receive her into his house, never acknowledge her 
as a daughter-in-law ! ” he thought, utterly dispir- 
ited. “ And yet — and yet,” he added, in spite of his 
better judgment, “if I could only find her, all 
might yet be well. That she should have vanished 
without leaving the slightest trace behind, is the 
bitterest cup of all.” 

The next morning, several hours after Leo had 
set out upon his journey, his father sat in his little 
private office behind the counting-room with the 
head book-keeper, a man of about fifty years of age, 
with a dry, keen face, which spite of its prevailing 
expression of business-like shrewdness and coldness, 
was not destitute of a shade of kindly feeling. 
When the matter under discussion was settled, 


TUE MERCHANT AND HIS BOOK-KEEPER. 181 

Berger nodded and took up his pen as if he wished 
to be alone, but the book-keeper still lingered and 
looked at his principal, winking violently, as if to 
conceal the anxiety he doubtless felt must be visi- 
ble in his eyes. 

“ Is there anything more to be said, Hensmann ? ” 
asked Berger. 

“If it would not be presuming too far, Herr 
Berger, I should like to know how soon we shall 
have the pleasure of seeing Herr Rudolph in D.? ” 

Berger hemmed, and after a short pause, replied : 
“ He wished to drive back with us yesterday, but 
will not come now until the first of next month.” 

“ Hm ! The time is short. It is not much more 
than a fortnight.” 

“ It cost me trouble enough to defer his coming 
even so long.” 

“ Yes, yes ! ” said the book-keeper, and an inde- 
scribable expression of satisfaction, almost of pride, 
brightened his dull features for a moment. “Herr 
Rudolph is sharp ; yet — for the present — that is till 
the matter with — till matters resume their usual 
course, I should be very glad if he was a little more 
like your youngest son.” 

“ Why, Hensniann ! ” replied Berger, evidently 
with a desire to defer for a moment the discussion 
of an affair, which as he well knew, he must soon 
arrange with his confidential employee in detail, 
“why, Hensmann, he is an obstinate fellow too. 
Yesterday, to my sorrow, I perceived that his resi- 
dence in Bngland had been utterly useless.” 


182 


NOT IN THEIK SET 


“ I think you are mistaken, sir. Herr Leo has 
come back a very clever, cautious merchant. I 
have never doubted it since the time when, with 
so much wisdom and prudence, he began to make 
those new business connections for us in London 
and Liverpool.” 

“ Oh ! I’m not speaking of that, I only meant 
that the silly boy has not changed his views or 
wishes in regard to that — wench on the moor.” 

Hensmann looked his employer full in the face ; 
the before mentioned expression of kindness not 
only appeared distinctly in his countenance, but 
even animated his dull eyes. “ Oh ! ” said he, “ do 
you call that being obstinate ? I should rather say 
that it came from possessing a faithful heart.” 

“ What ! what do you know about faithful hearts, 
and such superfluous things ? I thought you were 
old and sensible enough — ” 

“ No, Herr Berger,” interrupted the book-keeper, 
now as angry as his employer. “ I am neither old 
nor sensible enough to consider a heart a superflu- 
ous thing, and with your permission, I have one 
myself. It will be twenty-seven years next Autumn 
since I entered the house as an apprentice to your 
late father, and from that hour my interest in the 
business and devotion to the Arm has not known a 
moment’s wavering.” 

“ Why, Hensmann, are you crazy ? Who doubts 
it, or has ever said anything about it ? Interest in 
an old and highly respected business, devotion to a 


THE MERCHANT AND HIS BOOK-KEEPER. 183 

secure and well-known firm, is entirely different 
from this so called love and faith bestowed on a 
sillv ^irl.” 

“ It is not so entirely different,” exclaimed Hens- 
mann, evidently irritated ; “ it is a plant wdiich 
springs from the same soil ! And,” he added with 
an expression of intentional rudeness, striking his 
breast, “ it thrives here too.” 

Herr Berger had never been so much astonished 
as at this moment, and could only stare at the 
bookkeeper in silence. The latter continued in the 
same tone; “And even if you had sent me four 
years to England, and eight years to America, for 
aught I care, I would not have deserted Annchen.” 

“ Annchen ? She is your wife I suppose ? ” 
asked Berger, almost gasping for breath in his 
amazement. “But that is an entirely different 
matter ; first, because she is your wife, and secondly, 
because you are neither the son, nor the future rep- 
resentative of a long established firm.” 

“It don’t alter the case because she is my wife,” 
grumbled the bookkeeper. “ Betrothed or married, 
it is all the same thing ; the former isgust as sacred 
to an honorable man as the latter, if there are no 
higher considerations to interfere, and any one who 
don’t perceive this, allow me to say, Herr Berger, 
is no honest man.” 

“You seem to find pleasure to-day in being in- 
solent, Hensmann. If I understood the motive I 
should not submit to it, but since you know as well 


184 


NOT IN TllEIK SET. 


as I, that the higher considerations of which you 
speak do exist for Leo, in the most urgent degree, 
I don’t understand your growling.” 

‘‘ They do not exist, that is, not yet,” replied the 
book-keeper, not in the least intimidated, “ but the 
time will come soon enough, only too soon, both 
you and I know, when Herr Leo will be obliged to 
save you and the firm. From what I know of him, 
it will be a hard task, but he will consent, and 
therefore you ought to have some consideration, 
Herr Berger, and not torture him now, when it 
isn’t necessary.” 

“ I must say I can’t understand you at all to-day, 
Hensmann,” replied Berger, still greatly astonished. 
“ I alwaj^s supposed that Rudolph was your fav- 
orite, and now all at once you seem very much 
attached to his younger brother, and act as if he 
were not in existence.” 

“ And he has no longer any existence to the 
firm.” 

“Ho, he is now junior partner in the house of 
‘Ilagendorf & Son-in-law.’ But tliat does not make 
him lost to us ; he is still my son, and Leo’s 
brother.” 

The book-keeper’s only reply was a sullen shake 
of the head, and a pause ensued, during which Herr 
Berger drummed on his desk Avith a beautiful quill 
pen, until it broke. At last Hensman continued : 
“Times change, and so do men. Herr Rudolph 
was always a clever lad, cunning, active, skillful, a 


THE MERCHANT AND HIS BOOK-KEEPER. 185 

merchant to whom business was the first considera- 
tion, who never lost an opportunity of gain, and 
knew how to liquidate every loss, when to venture, 
and when to delay, according to existing circum- 
stances ; and to his clever and cautious counsels 
the firm owes many a nice sum. Was it any won- 
der that such a clever youth should be a favorite^ 
with both head of the house and bookkeeper.” 

“ Certainly not, Hensmann ; but I don’t see why 
Rudolph should not be your favorite still. He is 
the same as ever ; his father-in-law yesterday could 
not say enough in praise of the young man’s 
shrewdness and caution, and the fine mercantile 
education I had given him.” 

Hensmann shook his head. “ Don’t you believe 
it ? ” asked the merchant, evidently displeased. 

“ Every word you say, Herr Berger. But, as I 
said before, Herr Rudolph was all this up to the 
day you paid him his third of the property ; from 
that time his interest ceased. From the very 
moment he entered Herr Hagendorfs firm as a 
junior partner, he has been no more to us tban the 
son of any other well-known house in Boston or 
New York.” 

‘ That is only in regard to business.” 

‘ Yes, but to him business is everything. How 
strictly he settled his accounts with you. It was 
not like a son dealing with a father, but as a man 
acts towards a stranger whose honesty lie has yet 
to test. Herr Leo, on tlie contrary, with the most 


186 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


iraiilicit confidence, left everything to his papa and 
my humble self.” 

“To be sure,” said Berger shrugging his shoul- 
ders, “ and thereby confirmed what you always 
said — ‘ that he was no business man.’ ” 

“ But he is one,” retorted the book-keeper ang- 
rily, “ he proved that in the afiair with Wilkinson, 
at Leeds, in which, but for him, you would have 
been finely cheated. And who called our atten- 
tion to the hide business in Buenos Ayres, and 
opened a way to enter into it ? Have not our 
profits there been the only thing that has kept us 
afloat under our heavy losses ? ” 

“ But what will it all avail ? ” asked Berger 
gloomily, “ if Rudolph does not leave his mother’s 
property in our hands — ” 

“ He won’t do that, depend upon it,” interrupted 
Hensmann. 

“ And C. & Co. don’t forbear, we can’t hold out 
two years longer, unless Leo makes a wealthy mar- 
riage.” 

“ He will do so when the time of need comes. 
You may rely upon that,” said the book-keever 
confidently. 

“ And I tell you he won’t,” exclaimed Berger. 
“Ah, if it were Rudolph — ” 

“ Do you know what Herr Rudolph would do if 
he were in Herr Leo’s place ? ” 

“ Well?” 

“ He would marry a rich wife as soon as possible, 


THE MERCHANT AND HIS BOOK-KEEPER. ISV 


that the untarnished reputation of the firm miglit 
aid him ; then he would request you to pay him his 
mother’s legacy, and get as much more out of you 
as he could. With this capital he would establish 
a new business, and the firm of Berger & Son might 
take care of itself.” 

“ Do you know, sir, that you are presuming to 
slander my son ? ” cried Berger in an outburst of 
passion. 

“ Did you find it an easy matter yesterday to in- 
duce him to delay the settlement with you?” 

“ No, indeed,” replied the merchant, half sullenly 
and half amused, “ it almost seemed as if the boy 
suspected something.” 

“ Yes, your eldest son is sharp-sighted, your eldest 
son is sharp-sighted and crafty ; it was partly nat- 
ural, and partly the result of our training — unfor- 
tunately.” 

“ Unfortunately ? ” 

“Yes, it is now bearing its fruits; and you will 
live to see that they will be bitter to us. But do 
not let it trouble you,” he added consolingly, as he 
noticed the air of deep dejection in his employer’s 
manner; “your youngest son will make amends. 
He is like a soldier of whom I once read in a tire- 
some book when I was sick a few days. He would 
have shed the last drop of his blood rather than 
yield his flag ; and Herr Leo will risk life and hap- 
piness rather than allow the honor of the firm to 
sulfer a shock. One who is so faithful to a poor 


18 t 


;0T IN THEIR SET. 


deserted girl, will be loyal to his father, and his 
father’s name. Rely upon it, sir, Berger & Son 
never had a better son or future chief than your 
youngest boy.” 


4 


A MEETING AND A PARTING. 


189 


CHAPTER XIV. 

A MEETING AND A PARTING. 

Meantime Leo was slowly approaching the little 
village where he was to airange the business pre- 
viously mentioned. His father had intentionally 
given the matter much greater importance than it 
really deserved. Although even in the best of 
times, he had never been indilFerent to the most 
trifling loss, he would merely have sent one of the 
older clerks to Bergefort if the affair had not af- 
forded a plausible pretext to defer the settlement 
of his accounts with his eldest son a few weeks. 

Leo had chosen the mode of travel, which at that 
time, before railways had been built and when even 
MacAdam’s invention had not yet found its way to 
many j^arts of Germany, was most customary 
among merchants ; a light carriage drawn by a pow- 
erful horse. The country through which his road 
lay was level and monotonous, but well cultivated, 
and occasionally diversified by avenues of elms or 
beeches, or a clump of trees. These groves how- 
ever, were of small extent and somewhat rare ; lor 


190 


NOT IN TIIEIE SET. 


the inhabitants of the region were too much de- 
voted to the products of their acres not to make 
the tolerably good soil as available as possible. 
Thus, despite the neat villages and farm-houses by 
which the road passed, the eye grew weary of gaz- 
ing at the broad meadows, and level fields of grain, 
and in the absence of forests and hills, Leo would 
have been glad to see a patch of moorland with its 
juniper bushes and clumps of broom. 

About noon on the second day of his journey, he 
drove slowly through an avenue of German poplars 
to the little town of Bergefort. It was surrounded 
with fields and meadows, and contained a few 
gardens scantily furnished with fruit trees. A tall, 
slender church spire rose into the air ; on the ex- 
treme right of the outermost houses was an oval, 
rampart-like mound, at whose extremities still 
remained the ruins of low round towers, which 
showed that the place might once have been of 
considerable importance in the defense of the fron- 
tiers, and a few hundred paces from the left hand 
side of the road a brook plashed merrily along, 
under the shadow of a double row of ancient wil- 
lows, to turn a mill whose clatter was the only 
sound, which in this sequestered spot, recalled the 
noisy activity of the inhabitants of manufacturing 
regions. 

“ It would be terrible to be obliged to live here,” 
thought Leo as he’ drove his horse past the miser- 
able huts which lined the main street, up to the 


A MEETING AND A PARTING. 


191 


single inn the village possessed. I would rather 
spend my days on the moor; the moor? How 
constantly I have thought of it yesterday and to- 
day ! But is it not always so when I am left to 
myself? ” 

There was not an inn-keeper in Bergefort; an 
elderly woman in a neat, simple dress appeared on 
tlie steps before the door to receive the guest. In 
reply to his question whether he could obtain 
shelter for his horse and carriage, she answered not 
without pride : “ Oh ! certainly, sir ; the court 
stays with us every mouth, and we find room for 
the Hen* Assessor, the clerk, and the messengers, 
and they have a carriage and two horses with 
them, and a coachman, too.” 

“ Well, then, you have more than room enough 
for me,” said Leo following her into the little 
parlor. “ But you say the court stays with you, is 
there none here ? ” 

“Ho, sir, Bergefort is too small; the court 
comes here from W. every month.” 

“ I am sorry to hear tliat, for I came to transact 
some business with the Justizrath, whom they told 
me lives here.” 

“ That is quite true, sir ; he has lived here more 
than a year, Justizrath Greven.” 

“He has the title of Justizrath? How does he 
liappen to live in this little place ? ” 

“Ah! sir, that nobody knows. He was Justiz- 
rath of a higher court a long distance from here. 


192 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


and when old Justizrath Kessler died, a year and a 
lialf ago, Herr Greven applied for the place and re- 
ceived it. Some say he did so because he owns a 
house here which he inherited from his wdfe, but 
that can scarcely be the reason ; for neither he nor 
his wife, to whom the house was bequeathed by a 
great aunt, ever saw it before. Others say his 
niece w^as shy, and therefore he withdrew with her 
from the great city to this little place, but I don’t 
believe that cither ; for nobody can be more friendly 
and afiable than Fraulein Greven, and she is no 
more shy than the gentleman or I myself.” 

“ Well, the man probably has his own reasons for 
preferring Bergefort to any other place,” said Leo, 
breaking off the conversation. “ Will you have 
the kindness to get me something to eat ? ” 

An hour after, the hostess accompanied her 
guest into the street to show him the way to the 
Justizrath’s house. Leo thanked her, and followed 
her directions. The narrow street through which 
he had to walk was scarcely a hundred paces long, 
and at the end the road led over the mill-stream by 
means of a wooden bridge, and then continued on 
in a tolerably straight line to the parish pastures. 
On the left of the path stood the house, a quaint 
old building, with a broad front, huge gable, and 
heavy slated roof. The few windows were as ir- 
regular in their position as in their forms, and the 
large door was only raised a single step above the 
gravel walk that led to it. Directly over it was a 


A MEETING AND A PARTING. 


193 


window of moderate size in a leaden frame ; the 
others had large bright panes, set in coarse, dark- 
colored wood. Before the house stood four huge 
lindens, near enough to afford fragrance and shade, 
and yet sufficiently far away to avoid diffusing 
dampness. On the right of the house a low iron 
railing surrounded a green patch of turf, in the 
center of which was a magnificent horse chestnut 
tree, now adorned with countless pyramids of 
blossoms ; and on the left, a small, well-cultivated 
flower garden, also shut oft’ from the road by an 
old-fashioned iron railing, extended to the bank of 
the brook, attracting the eyes of every passer-by 
to its tulips, auriculas, and fragrant clusters of 
lilacs. 

Leo jjaused a moment in astonishment, as he 
caught sight of the old house. “ Really,” he 
thought to himself, “ terrible as I should find it to 
be compelled to live in Bergefort, I should like to 
spend a short time in this mansion. It has a truly 
benevolent aspect, and looks at me as kindly as if 
it wished to offer a cordial welcome. And I would 
also like to sit down on the bench under the 
chestnut tree, and read the book which seems to 
have been left forgotten on yonder rustic table.” 
Smiling at his own fancies, he walked up the grav- 
eled path and rang the bell at the wide door. 

An elderly maid-servant, very neatly dressed, 
opened it, but kept her hand upon it to prevent 
Leo’s entrance. “Is Herr Justizrath Greven at 
home ? ” he asked. 


194 


NOT IN THEIK SET. 


“Yes — but — ” a somewhat embarrassed hesita- 
tion followed. 

“ Perhaps he is engaged.” 

“ No — but — but he hasn’t finished his nap.” 

“ True,” thought Leo, “ this is probably just the 
time for a siesta,” then addressing the old servant, 
he asked : “ Could I not wait here until your master 
is able to see me ? ” for he much preferred to spend 
the time in the beautiful old house than at the pro- 
saic inn. 

“ Why, no sir,” said the maid, “ not very well ; 
the Herr Justizrath does not like to have strangers 
wait in his chamber, and he is taking his nap on 
the sofa in the sitting-room.” 

“ Then, of course — ” replied Leo, turning to go ; 
but he must have found favor in the eyes of the old 
servant, foi she drew back to allow him to enter 
the house, saying ; 

“ Stay, sir ; the young lady has gone out, and 
probably won’t object to your waiting in her room 
until the old gentleman wakes.” So saying, she led 
liim through the neat hall, f)aved with wLite sand- 
stone, upon which soft, brilliant hues were cast by 
the large window over the door, which as Leo now 
perceived was made of colored glass, and ushered 
him into an apartment of moderate size, whose 
windows looked out upon the linden trees. 

There Avas no one in the room, but the door had 
scarcely closed behind the young man when he felt 
overwhelmed by a sudden agitation, such as is 


A MEETING AND A PARTING. 195 

usually excited only by meeting dear, long absent 
friends. How this room, which he had never seen 
until that moment, spoke to him, and what, oh ! 
what did he find in it ? Directly opposite, over the 
costly piano, hung a beautiful copper plate engrav- 
ing in a brown wooden frame, a Madonna — he had 
once given one precisely like it, in a similar frame, 
to Margarethe, and the picture of the Mother of 
God was then the poor child’s most valuable pos- 
session. But it was not only the engraving that 
was here ; it was surrounded by a thick garland of 
wild daisies, the simple red and white blossoms 
which after a rain always grew so luxuriantly in 
Jost’s little garden ; and beneath it stood a small 
table with two little blue vases filled with fresh 
bouquets, not of the bright flowers from the garden, 
but the golden blossoms of the broom. Had he not 
given those very vases to Margarethe on her birth- 
day, and had she not filled them with bouquets of 
broom every spring so long as any flowers were to 
be found far or near ? Who was it who cherished 
such memories ? The notes which lay open upon 
the piano were those of a song Leo used to sing 
with Margarethe, and on the little work-table by 
1 the window the book — yes, it was surely open at 
Voss’ seventeenth birth-day, it was the “ Eutonia,” 
a collection of poems for young girls ; and on the 
fly-leaf was her name, written in Leo’s own hand. 
She must, she must be here ! She alone could 
treasure and hold sacred all these insignificant ob- 


196 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


jects; she alone could adorn this quiet, home-like 
room with mementoes which were only intelligible 
to her and to himself. * 

With increasing agitation the young man gazed 
around the apartment. It was simply, but very 
comfortably furnished, and the excellent quality of 
every article, from the richly gilt clock on the 
mantle-piece, to the thick rug under the sofa-table, 
shoAved that good taste, not parsimony, was the 
cause of this simplicity. Only a cultivated mind 
could select and arrange thus, and if Margarethe 
Avas really the occupant of this apartment the 
change that had taken place in her must be far 
greater than the hints of old Annchen of Nord- 
hecke had led Leo to suppose. 

Absorbed in these thronging thoughts and mem- 
ories, he did not hear the sound of a light step on 
the gravel Avalk, the opening and closing of the 
outer door, the approach of some one. “ Oh ! God, 
Margarethe ! Margarethe ! is it really you ? ” 

Such were the words that met the young girl as 
she unsuspectingly crossed the threshold of her 
room. She gazed in bewilderment as he rushed to 
meet her, caught her hands, and trembling, startled, 
but full of joy, looked into her pale face. Her 
astonishment lasted only a moment, however, the 
next, every doubt vanished. “ Leo, dear Leo, yes 
it is I — and you — you ? ” was the faltering, hajDpy 
ansAver. 

He threw his arms around her ; she leaned her 


A MEETING AND A PARTING. 


197 


head upon his shoulder, gazing up into his face with 
an expression of fervent love, and both burst into 
tears. 

After so many years of sorrow, anxiety, and al- 
most hopeless separation, this was a moment of 
happiness, so pure, so deep, so overwhelming, that 
they did not, could not think grief or care had any 
farther existence for them ; they could only feel the 
blissful certainty that they had met once more, and 
their affection was unaltered. 

Leo at last drew back a little to obtain a better 
view of his new-found treasure, and whispered 
with a happy smile : “ How tall and beautiful you 
have grown, Margarethe; if my heart had not 
helped my eyes, I believe I should hardly have 
known you.” 

She blushed, and replied with a smile, in which 
was mingled a shade of regret : “You have changed 
too, Leo ; you look so stately, so strong, so resolute. 
Only your pleasant voice and loving eyes remain 
the same.” 

“ Thereby you can see how faithful I am, faith- 
ful to you and our happy childhood ; for it is in the 
voice and eyes that the heart speaks. And you, 
dearest, are you faithful too ? ” 

Once more the blush and expression of pain ap- 
peared on the lovely face ; but she answered firmly ; 
“ Yes, I am faithful, faithful to you and my un- 
changing devotion to you ; I am happy, very happy, 
that I have been permitted to tell you so once 


198 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


more — all the happier because I did not venture to 
wish or hope for it.” 

“ What, Margarethe, you did not wish it ? ” 

“No, glad and thankful as I am that this shor. 
moment of happiness has been granted us, I had 
neither the right nor the courage to desire it.” 

“ But Margarethe, dearest Margarethe — ” 

“We must part, and the pain which we thought 
was already over — ” 

“Not I!” he vehemently interrupted. “I did 
not fancy it was over ; I could not, for I daily felt 
it afresh. In the torture of having lost you, I lived 
solely upon the hope of finding you again. And I 
have found you just as the agony was increasing, 
and hope seemed about to fail ; and now, Margar- 
ethe, you, you whom I have thought so much better, 
more loving, and faithful than myself, you speak of 
pain endured, and a fresh separation ! Have I re- 
lied upon your faithful love in vain ? ” 

“ No, Leo, no ; but I dare not express it as you 
desire ; for the sake of your own happiness I must 
not show how unspeakably dear you are to me by 
a union with you, but by having the firmness to in- 
sist upon our irrevocable separation.” 

“ Oh ! Margarethe,” he murmured, so sorrowfully 
til at it pierced her heart ; “ this is not love, but 
cruelty.” 

“ Call it so, if it makes what is inevitable easier,” 
she answered sadly. 

“ But what is inevitable, and why should it be 


A MEETING AND A PART 


199 


SO ? Have I not returned to you unchanged ? 
And if I was worthy of you, my beloved, before 
our painful separation,” he added with a faint smile, 
“ why should I be less so now, when I have been 
tried and found loyal ? ” 

“ The question is not, cau never be of your un- 
worthiness,- but I — ’’ 

“ You ! ” he exclaimed, gazing at her in rapture. 
“ Oh I without effort of mine you have become 
what for years 1 have most ardeiitly, most eagerly 
hoped to see you. You stand before me far more 
beautiful and winning than I ever dared to fancy 
in my wildest dreams. Whom am I to thank, my 
darling, for having found you in this perfected 
loveliness ? ” 

These fond, fervent words, this unconcealed ad- 
miration, must have made her happy ; for a flush 
of joy dyed cheek and brow. But it quickly faded, 
and she answered gravely, “ If you allude to the 
smattering of education which seems to surprise 
you, dear Leo, I owe it, like everything else I am 
and have, to my kind uncle. He is really my great- 
uncle, for my dead mother was his niece. When 
he found me in my poverty and abandonment, he 
adopted me and cared for my education and welfare 
as if he had been my father ; I am as happy in his 
house as I can ever hope to become ; for he has the 
kindest, gentlest heart, and is very fond of me.” 

“It must make him very happy to be able to 
love and care for you,” said Leo. 


200 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


“ He says so, and I believe him. His aifectionate 
nature renders sympathy with others’ joys a neces- 
sity, and he has no one except me. He lost his 
wife and two sons soon after his marriage ; my un- 
happy mother also died young, and a little more 
than three years ago he followed his sister, my 
grandmother, to the grave. It was then that he 
heard of my existence and desolate situation, and 
adopted me.” 

‘‘ And you have lived with him ever since, Mar- 
garethe ? ” 

“ hTo, not always. I first spent a year with him, 
and received instruction from the best teachers in 
the place ; then he sent me to an excellent board- 
ing-school for two years, during which time I went 
to him in my vacation every Spring and Autumn. 
The principal of the school treated me very kindly, 
and T found a warm friend in one of the teachers, 
but, notwithstanding, I longed almost passionately 
for the close of my last term.” 

“ You loved your uncle so dearly ? ” asked Leo, 
almost with a tinge of jealousy. 

“ I loved him dearly ; how could I help it ; but 
that was not the only, nor even the principal reason 
Avhy I longed to return to his house.” 

“ And may I know what it was, Margarethe ? ” 

“You may, you must know it ; ” she replied, with 
a sudden pallor, which was instantly followed by a 
burning blush. “ I learned at that establishment, 
through the carelessness of one of the older pupils 


A MEETI^TG AND A PARTING. 


201 


— the full extent of my mother’s misfortune, and 
perceived the shadow that rested upon me. After 
that time I never breathed freely there, and when 
at last I returned to my uncle, the constant society 
found in his hofise became a torture. As he could 
not break off all relations with his old a(.quain- 
tances, and deeply sympathized with my painful 
situation, he closed his business connections there, 
and retired to this secluded village. Here, my 
uncle, that he may not be entirely deprived of his 
usual occupation, attends to the legal business of 
the poor people, generally without payment, and I 
am happy in the belief that I can cheer his declin- 
ing years, and aid him in fulfilling the duties of 
benevolence, known by no one and therefore pitied 
and despised by none.” 

“ Margarethe, dear, dear Margarethe ! What a 
word ! It can never be applied to you.” 

She made a beseeching gesture, as if even his 
well meant interruption wounded her, and con 
tinned : 

“ It does apply to me, and there is no remedy 
except deep, total seclusion. I know and perceive 
this so plainly, that I not only understand, but ap- 
prove your father’s sending you to England to 
forget the broom-maker’s foster child.” 

“ And therefore,” he said with sorrowful bitter- 
ness, “you probably also took those precautions 
which, after my return home, would have made it 
impossible for me to discover you, had not a fortu- 
nate accident come to my aid.” 


202 


NOT IN THEIK SET. 


“ I thought it was my duty, Leo,” she said 
gently. 

“ Duty ! ” he exclaimed with increasing vehe- 
mence. “ Can you call it duty to destroy forever 
the happiness of one who has loved«you so long, so 
fondly, Avho will never cease to hold you dearer 
than any other living creature ? Oh ! Margarethe, 
this is a sorrowful confu’sion of ideas, and will 
bring blessings to neither of us.” 

“ And would it bring a blessing, Leo, to solemnize 
our marriage without your father’s consent ? ” she 
asked mournfully. “ And he will not, nay, he dare 
not give it ; for it is his duty to save you from the 
shadow which, as I have already told you, darkens 
my life.” 

“ The fancy with which you torture yourself, 
Margarethe, is but a shadow, a phantom, which you 
have unhappily permitted to obtain such a hold 
over you, that it has darkened your mind, and ob- 
scured your usually clear understanding. What 
have I to do with the names, the fate of your 
parents. I do not know them, and will never do 
so if my knowledge of their lives or acts could 
have power to grieve you. I will only think of 
them as a son, in every other respect their past will 
be dead to me. But Margarethe, dearest Margar- 
ethe, consider that it is given into your hands to 
make my future a succession of days of unspeaka- 
ble happiness, or convert those days into a chain of 
hopeless misery.” 


A MEETING AND A PARTING. 203 

She wept bitterly, hiding her pallid face in her 
hands ; and although firmly resolved not to yield 
to his passionate pleading — for she loved him more 
than herself, and would not sacrifice his future to 
what she feared would be only a short period of 
happiness— she found it difficult to resist the spell 
his entreaties exerted over her, and therefore felt 
an emotion of great relief when the door of her 
room slowly opened, and her uncle appeared on the 
threshold. 

The old man semeed very much astonished to find 
the stranger of whom the old maid servant liad 
told him, engaged in such an agitated conversation 
with his neice, but Margarethe’s first words ex- 
plained all. “Leo,” said she, “ this is Leo, dear 
uncle; he has discovered us — and alas, will not 
hear of a separation.” 

“ And yet he must submit to it, my child,” said 
the old gentleman with quiet decision, and then 
cordially offered his hand to Leo. “ So you have 
sought us out, my young friend? How long is it 
since you returned from abroad ? ” 

“ Scarcely a week. I came home without having 
the faintest idea of what had happened to Margarethe 
during my absence. My first walk, after spending 
one night in my father’s house, was to the moor ; 
and how painfully I found all my hopes disap- 
pointed ! My father could not, old dost and Ann- 
chen of Mordhecke would not, give me the smallest 
clue to Margarethe’s new relative, or place of resi- 


204 


NOT IN THEIR SI5T. 


dence. I applied to tlie priest and schoolmaster at 
B., to the postmaster in M. and D., hut all in vain. 
They either knew nothing to tell me, or had re- 
ceived the strictest injunctions not to do so. It 
was a hitter, hitter thing to see my dearest wishes 
so utterly destroyed, at the very moment I thought 
their fulfilment was approaching.” 

“ Then how did you succeed in discovering us, 
Herr Berger ? ” asked Greven. 

“ By a visible leading of Providence,” replied 
Leo with joyous warmtli. “ My father unsuspi- 
ciously sent me to you on some business connected 
with one of the petty merchants here ; and how 
richly the obedience with which I entered upon the 
tiresome journey has been rewarded.” 

“Would to God you had never taken it,” said 
the Justizrath earnestly. 

The young man looked at him in alarm, and 
asked anxiously : “ Alas ! are you, too against us ? ” 

“Not against you, my dear young friend; cer- 
tainly not, and it possible, still less against my 
beloved Margarethe. But what the child, I sus- 
pect, told you before I entered, I must support with 
all my authority as relative, guardian, and adopted 
father. Your father will never give liis consent to 
you marriage with my neice, and highly as I 
treafc.ure my darling child, proud as I am of her 
rare qualities, her great talents, and their unusual 
development, I cannot help acknowledging that he is 
right in his refusal ; and because I grant tliis, I utter 


A MEETING AND A PARTING. 


205 


an equally firm refusal against my neice’s marriage 
with you. Margarethe fully agrees with me on this 
point, as well as everything else I have arranged 
for her jjresent and future life ; not from mistaken 
pride towards your father and other relatives — for 
as I acknowledged, your family are not wrong in 
their refusal to receive her among them — hut from 
sincere, ardent love for you. Do not interrupt me, 
my dear friend. I know all you would and can 
&ay. But if Margarethe, which as I have already 
stated is not the case, had any other opinions than 
mine in this matter, she would still yield to me 
with child-like obedience ; and she expects you to 
show the same towards your father.” 

This decision was fi-nal. No matter how ur- 
gently Leo pleaded and implored, no matter how 
many arguments he brought forward to support his 
most heartfelt desire, it was in vain. The Justiz- 
rath at last took him to his own room to discuss 
the business on which he had come to Bergefort, 
but could only induce him to do so by the promise 
that the evening should be spent in Margarethe’s 
society, and then intentionally detained him longer 
than was necessary in order to give Margarethe 
time to compose herself. Then followed quiet, 
never-to-be-forgotten hours, in which grief and joy 
had an almost equal share. 

When the time for parting drew near, the J ustiz- 
rath rose, bade Leo a cordial farewell, and liastily 
withdrew; the lovers were alone, alone to take 


206 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


their last irrevocable leave of each other. Leo 
made no farther effort to shake Margarethe’s resolu- 
tion ; he knew that all entreaties were vain, and 
could only serve to increase the poor girl’s anguish, 
so he clasped her closely to his heart, rained kisses 
on her lips and brow, and implored Heaven’s bles- 
sing to rest upon her. Margarethe responded to 
his caresses and ardent words with equal fervor ; 
the lovers once more gazed long and earnestly into 
each other’s eyes — and parted. 

When Leo again stood before his father to report 
the result of his interview with Justizrath Greven, 
old Berger said almost discontentedly : ‘‘You came 
back very soon ; I thought you would spend at 
least five or six days on the journey.” 

“I settled my business with the Justizrath in 
less than two hours ; he is as sharp-sighted as he is 
skillful, understands mercantile affairs with won- 
derful clearness, and I don’t doubt manages them 
with equal ability. He gave me the most satisfac- 
tory assurances, and told me to say to you he hoped 
you would not sustain any loss worth mentioning.” 

“ Well, well ; that is much better than I thought. 
You see, Leo, it is always well, if possible, to speak 
to a lawyer yourself; then people see a man con- 
siders the matter of importance, and use greater 
zeal themselves. But what makes you look so? 
Are you ill ? ” 

“No, father, only tired — have seen Margarethe 
again.” 


A MEETING AND A PARTING. 207 

The old man started up in terror. ‘‘ There is 
surely the — But seen or not seen, makes no sort 
of difference. I advise you, young man, to drive 
these crazy ideas out of your head, once for all, or 
you lose your father’s love and blessing forever.” 

“ Do not be alarmed, father — Margarethe will 
never be your daughter-in-law.” 

“ Ah ! so you have come to your senses at last ; 
God knows, I am glad to hear it; yes, now you 
probably see for yourself that a pretty face 'with- 
out education or refinement, is not enough to make 
a man in your position happy.” 

“ You are mistaken there, father, Margarethe is 
all and more than all, the most fastidious taste could 
desire in the choice of a wife. Her great beauty, 
rare talents, and careful education would secure the 
cordial admiration of any circle of society, even 
were these advantages not enhanced by the posses- 
sion of great wealth. Ho, father, if I ever loved 
Margarethe, she is now far dearer than ever.” 

‘‘ So you see that — ” 

A quiet gesture, and a firm, almost haughty 
glance from Leo, repressed the words already hov- 
ering on his lips, and his son continued : “ I should 
esteem it an honor in every respect to be permitted 
to call a creature so noble, so richly gifted as Mar- 
garethe, my wife. I most ardently, urgently im- 
plored her guardian and herself for her hand, and 
was resolutely rejected by both at once and for- 
ever.” 


208 


NOT IN THEIE SET. 


The deep sorrow in the tone with which these 
words were uttered touched his father’s heart, yet 
he was inexpressibly glad tnat this unfortunate 
freak of his noble boy’s seemed to be now, once for 
all, at an end. “ I am glad, heartily glad ! ” he 
said, rubbing his hands. “ But,” he added angrily, 
“ the girl and her guardian must be crazy, perfectly 
crazy, to reject such an offer.” 

“ You are mistaken in that supposition too, 
father,” said Leo, not without a tinge of bitterness, 
“ Margarethe’s uncle and guardian is Justizrath 
Greven. He is enormously rich, and she is his sole 
heiress, so she is more than my equal. Both, how- 
ever, know that Margarcthe, necessary as she is to 
my happiness, would always be an unwelcome 
daughter in-law to you ; and if we have our pride, 
they cherish their modest, yet unchangeable sense 
of honor. But I implore you, father, let these be 
the last words we ever exchange upon a subject so 
infinitely painful to me.” 

An hour after, Hensmann, the book-keeper, stood 
before his employer in his private otfice, and said 
somewhat sullenly ; “ So Herr Leo is back already ? ” 

“Unfortunately,” replied Berger with a heavy 
sigh ; “ and we shall now be obliged to pay Ru- 
dolph’s demand the first of next month.” 

“ Try to obtain three months extension from him ; 
he is your son, and will keep counsel for his own 
sake.” 

“ I will try — but — you know Rudolph ; I greatly 


A MEETING AND A PARTING. 


209 


doubt whether he will sacrifice his interests to 
mine, especially as I cannot be perfectly frank with 
him in regard to my real situation.” 

“ Well, that would certainly be the least likely 
way to induce him to forbear,” said Hensmann. 
“If he should suspect the least danger to his own 
property, he would secure it though he ruined ten 
fathers.” 

“ You ought to be ashamed to speak so of my 
son, Hensmann,” replied Berger angrily. 

“ I cannot speak of him otherwise than as he is. 
You, yourself, said, only a moment ago, that I 
knew him. But let the Herr Principal try it ; if he 
doesn’t succeed then — ” 

“ Then?” 

“Well, then, within three months, Herr i^eo 
must be engaged, if not married, to some wealthy 
merchant’s daughter, in order to give new support 
to our credit.” 

“That will be a difficult matter, after what he 
has just suffered, which seems to cause him such in- 
comprehensible sorrow,” muttered the merchant. 
“But you are right, Hensmann,” he continued 
rousing himself, “ we must have help from Leo, and 
if he does not yield willingly — we can instantly 
give him reasons why he must. 


210 


NOT IN THEIB SET. 


CHAPTER XV. 

A FEW WORDS OF EXPLANATION. 

While Margarethe’s destiny thus seemed to haA^e 
been finally decided, and she thought she had 
broken off all connections with the world by her 
agonizing parting from the beloved friend of her 
youth, she did not in the least suspect that her 
mere existence would exert a great influence over 
persons, who Avere as yet total strangers to her — 
yet this was the case to a A^ery great degree. Ever 
since the evening Avhen her grandfather — now long 
dead — of whose existence she had scarcely ever 
heard a word, appeared in her father’s castle, an 
anxious longing for Helene’s forsaken child, or at 
least for some certainty about her life or death, had 
arisen in that father’s heart. His relation toAvards 
her mother had not been the mere fancy of an 
aristocratic man for a daughter of the people, to 
pass away an idle hour, or gratify a sensual wish. 
No, Helene had been his equal, nay, his superior in 
intellect and education ; her manner and habits of 
life were not very different from those of the ladies 


A FEW WORDS OF EXPLANATIOIST. 211 

of his own rank, and as he did not meet her in his^ 
but in her own social circles, and indeed, as one of 
the most distinguished ladies among those who sur- 
rounded her, she had met him on perfectly equal 
terms during the whole period of their acquain- 
tance. Besides this, she was the object of the only 
true love which had ever ruled his heart ; and the 
design of raising her to the rank of his wife, which 
for a long time he had really cherished, was, and 
remained the only ebullition of will that had ever 
marked his indolent, irresolute existence. True, 
his father’s stronger will had conquered this reso- 
lution, true, his beloved was at last sacrificed, and 
then shamefully deserted^ but he had, from the 
first moment, wooed her ardently and sincerely, 
and for a long time called her his betrothed, not 
only to her mother and herself, but in his own mind, 
and his relations towards Helene, and duties 
towards her child, still appeared to him illumined 
by the light of these memories. However often he 
might say to himself that the wealth of Helene’s 
relatives would secure her daughter from all possi- 
bility of want, he was always tortured by the 
never sleeping consciousness that it was his duty to 
provide for her, and a consuming desire to discharge 
this undeniable claim. 

But he did not venture to make any effort to ob- 
tain any certain information in regard to the exis- 
tence of this forsaken child ; for he was unwilling 
to still farther compromise the peace of his married 


212 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


life, already so bitterly disturbed, and thus his 
days were continually embittered by the torture oi 
deep, unavailing remorse, and petty, galling dis- 
putes. Not for a single moment could he enjoy the 
material prosperity and comfort, for which he had 
sacrificed everything. 

The Countess, although destitute of any warm 
feelings for her husband, and perfectly convinced 
from the beginning that he had been induced to 
offer her his hand from very difiTerent motives than 
esteem or affection, had nevertheless been a prey to 
secret jealousy from the hour of her marriage. Like 
many selfish people, she was incapable of love ; 
but perhaps in consequence of her egotistical qual- 
ities, required from those she considered her own, 
the tribute of love to herself. She wished to possess 
her husband and children, and to enjoy this posses- 
sion, and therefore, without ever displaying any- 
thing but coldness or indifierence, desired from 
them increasing attention and respect for herself 
and her wishes. As her husband, out of love of 
ease, had tolerably satisfied these demands, and her 
children, partly from their natural relations towards 
their mother, and partly from fear of her cold sever- 
ity, always behaved dutifully towards her, a pass- 
ably good understanding had prevailed at Castle 
Miltenberg up to the day of Lorsberg’s appear- 
ance. The angry, embittered man had fully at- 
tained his object by his short, unfriendly visit. 
True, his duel with the Count had resulted disas- 
trously for him, but all the happiness the Count 


A FEW WORDS OF EXPLANATION. 


213 


and his wife had formerly possessed Avas from that 
hour irretrievably lost. 

From that moment the Countess had not only 
suffered a change for the worse to enter into her re- 
lations with her husband, but she had never been 
the same towards her eldest daughter. Before this 
time, few as Avere the points of contact between 
her narroAV mind and this gifted creature, she had 
loved the child, so far as was possible to one of her 
nature. Pride in her daughter’s charms was 
doubtless the principal cause of her maternal af- 
fection ; but since this pride had been so bitterly 
humiliated by Lorsberg’s insulting words, her 
former love for Louise became transformed into al- 
most positive aversion. If she could have con- 
quered this change, and showed her innocent child 
the warm motherly feelings she so well deserved, 
she would undoubtedly have retained her daughter’s 
sincere love and devotion. Clever and just as 
Louise Avas, she would have looked upon hq^’ 
mother as the injured person, her father as the in- 
sulter of lier most sacred rights, and taken her 
part at once and foreA^er. But noAv nothing in that 
dark, mysterious incident stood forth so clearly as 
her mother’s harshness and want of love, and her 
father’s unhappiness ; and with the firm conviction 
that she Avas not only unnecessary, but positively 
disagreeable to the former, while the latter cher- 
ished her as his beloved and only comfort, she 
turned resolutely away from her mother to cling to 
her father’s side. 


214 


NOT IN THEIR SET, 


CHAPTER XVI. 

MARRIAGE SCHEMES. 

The Countess was sitting in her own room at Mil- 
tenberg, reading with eager interest a letter from 
her cousin, Baroness* von Dornick. In order to 
make ourselves acquainted with the contents, and 
at the same time to learn whether the Baroness still 
resembles the portrait sketched during a former 
visit at the castle, we will also peruse the sheet. 
The epistle ran as follows : 

‘‘ Dear Cousin : — If it were not so utterly un 
practical to regret anything which is perfectly 
satisfactory in itself, besides being irrevocably set- 
tled, I should now most earnestly lament that Ce- 
cilia is already married. Within a short time, a 
parti has appeared in our circle, whom I would far 
rather have seen my daughter’s husband tlian my 
present son-in-law, although Clemens Almersback is 
a very good man in his way, ot spotless lineage, 
and very well off as regards property. But better 
is better, and Count Otto von Guntersberg, with 
his boundless wealth, princely possessions, and in- 
fluential connections, is a very difierent person 


MARRIAGE SCHEMES. 


215 


from plain Baron Almersbach, and Dornick says so 
too. However, Cecilia is married, and there is 
nothing more to be done about the matter, so as 
my daughter’s interests are entirely out of the 
question, I thought of yours. If the Count cannot 
become my son-in-law, I would rather see him marry 
into a family nearly related to mine than have him 
enter a stranger’s. 

“ Still, there are serious difficulties in the afiair, 
not ■'nly in consequence of outside obstacles, but 
on account of the Count’s own peculiarities. You 
perhaps know that he lost both parents when very 
young, and on the day he came of age, entered into 
the uncontrolled possession of his immense prop- 
erty. It was natural that lie should rush into the 
whirlpool of fashionable life, and thus it happened 
that he exhausted — not his wealth, for it is so im- 
mense that even the wildest extravagance could 
scarcely ruin him — but himself, or rather his pleas- 
ure in life, his capacity for enjoyment. People give 
this condition a name which I don’t remember hav- 
ing heard in my youth, perhaps because the calam- 
itous times did not allow men leisure to be hlasL 
There are many such cases now, but I never saw 
any one so utterly hlasfi as the Count. Besides 
this, a young man of such wealth and rank, united 
to a very handsome person, would be welcome to 
any mother for her daughter, so numberless young 
ladies have been introduced to him in the most 
delicate and indelicate manner, whom he can have 
no difficulty in perceiving were intended for him, 
with or without their knowledge and consent. 
This has made him so fastidious, and — so far as 
this matter is concerned — so suspicious, that he can 
no longer be induced to interest himself in any 
lady, let alone making a choice, and almost de- 
spairs of the possibility of coming to any decision. 


216 


XOT IN THEIR SET. 


“ The Count, as perhaps you may be aware, clear 
Therese, is distantly related to Dornick. For this 
reason, as we supposed, he attached himself closely 
to us soon after his arrival in W., but with his 
Usual frankness, he confessed that the circumstance 
of our having no daughter to marry, had attracted 
him far more than the relationship, which is really 
very distant. I laughingly told him that in spite 
of that I had designs upon him, and spoke very 
frankly of your Louise; for I rightly judged one 
would succeed better with him by the greatest 
candor than by the most refined delicacy. He gaily 
entered into my pretended jest, but I saw he per- 
ceived I had a serious meaning, and also that the 
matter gave him food for thought. 

“ He did not allude to the incident for a long time, 
and I observed a similar silence, especially as I 
learned he was trying to obtain farther particulars 
of Louise from others. That they quickly guessed 
the cause of his curiosity, and eagerly strove to 
stifle all desire to see the young girl, you may read- 
ily suppose, but these very efforts had a contrary 
result. The frightful pictures of Louise’s pride, 
coldness, and self-assurance, which every lady tried 
to draw, while the men — you must pardon my 
frankness — all more or less wounded by these 
traits in your daughter’s character, could not help 
acknowledging their truth, though they praised her 
grace and beauty, roused the most eager expecta- 
tions in his mind, and he finally condescended to 
entreat me to obtain an introduction to you. His 
request that I should induce you to bring your 
daughter here that he might meet her at the few 
balls which will be given before the close of the 
season, I rejected as inadmissible, and told him I 
had no reasonable pretext for doing so, since you 


MAEEIAGE SCHEMES. 


217 


Jiad left W. with your family only a few weeks be- 
fore, and if I should write openly that I wished you to 
bring Louise here because a young gentleman, who 
was anxious to make her acquaintance, had begged 
me to procure him an introduction, you would never 
consent. Thus a point was reached where he must 
either let the matter drop, or take a more decided 
course. He did the latter. He asked whether it 
would be possible for me to take him to Miltenberg, 
and I told him nothing could be easier, for Dornick 
and I had promised to spend a few v/eeks with you 
and Steinthal at the close of the Carnival, and 
without exciting any particular attention, could re- 
quest your permission to bring a relative who was 
visiting us in W., and wished to remain with us still 
longer. The Count agreed to my proposal without 
the least hesitation, and now to obtain this brilliant 
match for Louise you have only to give me permis- 
sion to introduce this grand parti. It is evident he 
has determined to give up liis bachelor life as soon 
as he finds a wife who meets his wishes ; and I am 
perfectly sure Louise will satisfy him in every 
respect. 

“ I never wrote so long a letter in all my life, 
therefore you must pardon me if I conclude as 
quickly as possible. Dornick, my children, and I 
are well and happy, and hope you are the same. 
My family send kind regards to you and Steinthal, 
and I beg you to teli me when you can receive us. 
Don’t defer it too long ; for the Count is impatient. 
Give my love to Louise also, and be assured of the 
faithful friendship 

Of your cousin, 

“ Minna Dornick. 

“W., March IGth, 183-.” 

The Countess read this letter twice; the first 


218 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


time hastily and eagerly, the second, slowly and 
thoughtfully, sometimes letting her hand fall, and 
gazing earnestly and immovably before her. When 
she had finished the second reading, she nodded as 
if very well satisfied, went to her writing-table, 
laid the letter down, and for a moment stood still 
thoughtfully, once even turning as if to leave the 
room ; but the impulse passed as quickly as it came, 
she instantly sat down to \vrite, and without farther 
hesitation or reflection dashed off the following 
lines : 

“ My Dear Minna : — I am doubly grateful to 
you for the proof of friendly interest afforded by 
your letter of March 10th ; fori am aware that so 
long and ample an epistle is a sacrifice you would 
scarcely make for any one whom you did not highly 
esteem. I know, if possible, you are even less tond 
ot writing than reading. Your well-meant wishes 
and efforts in my daughter’s behalf, also deserve 
the warmest thanks. It would ill beseem me if I 
did not frankly tell you that the alliance you hope 
to make for my daughter seems a very suitable one ; 
but whether our wishes in regard to it will be ful- 
filled, is very uncertain. From your description. 
Count von Guntersberg is a man who claims every 
consideration — as he is justified in doing on account 
of his wealth and rank — but he is not accustomed 
to think of the same thing in regard to others. My 
daughter is equally exacting, nay, I must confess, 
full of caprices. Neither her own good sense, nor 
all the toil I have lavished upon her education, 
have availed to extirpate a trait of character so un- 
desirable in a young lady. How the Count and 
Louise are mutually to attract each other, since all 


MARRIAGE SCHEMES. 


219 


wise people say this takes place only between op- 
posite qualities, and still more how they will ever 
come to an understanding, I do not see. Still, the 
matter is one of so much consequence to my daugh- 
ter that this time, contrary to my own opinions, I 
will allow myself to be guided by my wishes in- 
stead of my judgment ; therefore, I beg you and 
your husband, dear cousin, not only to keep your 
promise, and give us the pleasure of your company 
as soon as possible, but to bring Count von Gunters- 
burg with you. The rest must then take care of 
itself; it can only be left to time and the two young 
people. 

“ 1 shall expect you and your companions a week 
from to-day. If your son’s lessons will permit you 
to bring Max and Ferdinand with you, their cousins 
Fritz and Ulrich will be very grateful. You know 
Miltenberg is large enough to accommodate a far 
greater number of guests. 

“ I shall now only add Steinthal’s and Louise’s 
regards to Dornick and dear Cecilia, and beg you 
to write a few lines to inform me whether we may 
hope your boj’^s will accompany you. An revoir, 
and until we meet believe me, 

“Your affectionate cousin, 

“ThERESE VOlSr SxEINTlIAIi. 

“Miltenberg, March 18th, 183-.” 

When the Countess had finished her letter, she 
rang the bell and ordered the servant to request her 
husband to give her a few minutes in her own 
room. Courteous as was the form of this request, 
she knew that like all her words it would have the 
force of a command, and a few moments after, the 
Count appeared before his stern mistress. “ I have 
received a letter from Minna von Dornick,” she 


220 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


began, “ and wish to make you acquainted with its 
contents and my reply.” 

“ You are evidently taking unnecessary trouble,” 
replied the Count rudely. “ If I am not mistaken, 
the answer is already written.” 

“ The Countess, without taking any notice of the 
real purport of his remark, replied with studied 
coldness : “ Everything is distasteful to you which 
bears the most distant resemblance to business. 
It is incomprehensible to me how a human being 
— a man — can be so incredibly indolent. Pray do 
not interrupt me : you can not change my opinion 
by words ; this time, however, you will probably 
be forced* to give me your attention, for the matter 
in question concerns Louise’s future.” 

“ Louise’s future ? ” asked the Count in asionish- 
ment, suddenly starting from the chair into which 
he had sunk in an almost reclining posture. 

“Does that surprise you — she is more than nine- 
teen, and it is quite time to attend to arranging a 
marriage for her, especially as her pretty face is her 
only dowry.” > 

“Her beauty,” replied the Count with visible 
pride,“ is not of a style that one need fear will fade 
early.” 

“ Perhaps not,” said the Countess carelessly. “ I 
don’t understand such things, but I am certain that 
a beauty can scarcely appear two successive seasons 
without being out of fashion, which is quite 
as fading.” 


MARRIAGE SCHEMES. 


221 


Possibly. But what does your cousin write ? ” 
“ Count Otto von Guntersburg — ” 

‘‘ What — the Count from B? ” he interrupted. 
“Yes — but read the .'tiiter yourself; for one can 
not discuss any business matter with you. You in- 
terrupt me at almost every sentence.” 

She held out the letter with an air of displeasure, 
while he asked reproachfully : “ Do you call 
Louise’s marriage a business matter ? ” 

“ Why, what else should it be ? ” she answered 
carelessly, leaning back in her chair, and busying 
herself in setting the watch she wore in her belt by 
the clock that stood on her writing-table. 

The Count read Baroness von Dornick’s letter 
twice, as his wife had done, but with a very differ- 
ent, far warmer interest. At last he folded and 
returned it, saying : “ Would to God Louise might 
feel an affection for him.” 

“ Ah ! that is the least important part of the 
affair,” replied the Countess contemptuously. 

“ The least important ? ” asked the Count in sur- 
prise. “ But Tlierese, what else can have any con- 
nection with the matter ? ” 

“ Simply whether the Count takes a fancy to your 
daughter, my precious simpleton. He is free to 
offer his hand or not according to his own pleasure, 
she has merely to wait to ascertain whether she 
suits his taste ; and in the former case, as a matter 
of course, she will become his wife.” 

“ But Therese — suppose he does not please her ? ” 


222 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


“ Why then — to be sure — such Counts don’t 
grow by the road-side like sloes. See, here is the 
reply I have written to my cousin.” 

“You ought not to have spoken of your daugh- 
ter in such a way,” said the Count peevishly, as he 
returned the letter. 

“ Why not ? ” she asked sharply. “ Did I not 
write the exact truth. And do you suppose Minna 
does not know our Louise thoroughly ? To conceal 
the faults of one’s children very rarely succeeds, it 
is much more sensible to try to correct them ; but 
your blind partiality for Louise has rendered it im- 
possible for me to do so.” 

“ Louise is better, far better than you represent 
her,” replied the Count; “but let that pass. I 
should care very little about it if I were certain 
your letter would be read only by your cousin. 
But unfortunately, I am by no means sure of her 
discretion.” 

“ She is very prudent ; but it is possible, in the 
present case, that she may think proper to show 
my letter to the Count.” 

“ If you believe that possible,” cried the Count 
with an outburst of indignation, “ I do not under- 
stand how you could have made use of such ex- 
pressions in regard to your daughter. Every 
mother who had any feeling for her child — ” 

“ Oh, feeling ! ” interrupted the Countess, with a 
scornful intonation, and a repellant gesture which 
silenced her husband. “ Feeling ! there is nothing 

O 


MARKIAGE SCHEMES. 


223 


in the world more useless. Every woman of sense 
and experience, who wished to secure this brilliant 
match for her daughter would have written exactly 
as I did. Count Guntersburg is hlase^ wearied, as 
Minna says. To such men, gentle well-trained 
girls seem insipid, while on the contrary the sketch 
I have drawn of Louise will appear piquant, and 
from what I know of her, she will take care not to 
fall below my description.” 

The Count perceived it would be a useless effort 
for him to oppose his wife’s sending this letter to 
the Baroness von Dornick, or even to urge any al- 
teration in its contents. He therefore made another 
attempt to assert his authority as head of the 
family, as well as to satisfy his paternal affection, 
by protesting with angry vehemence that he would 
never permit his daughter to be forced or cajoled 
into a distasteful marriage.” 

“ You are overshooting the mark again,” said the 
Countess with insulting coldness, as she sealed her 
letter. ‘‘ How do you know that Louise will not 
joyfully seize the good fortune so unexpectedly 
offered ? Whatever her faults may be — and she 
has many, thanks to the resemblance between her 
character and yours, and your absurd indulgence — 
she lacks neither sense nor ambition. Let things 
quietly take their course,.before you begin to rage so 
aimlessly. The Count may have seen very different 
beauties from this image of your — But we will 


224 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


close this discussion, and order Anton to saddle a 
horse and take my letter to the post-office.” 

The Count repeated the order, and this at least 
for the present, was the sole result of the confiden- 
tial interview between him and his wife. 


-<V1T msULT AND ITS REBUFF. 


225 


CHAPTER XVII. 

AN INSULT AND ITS REBUFF. 

The expected guests had reached Miltenberg, and 
life at the castle was as gay and animated as the 
Countess’ cold, stern presence, and her husband’s 
somewhat gloomy disj^osition ever permitted it to 
be. Baroness von Dornick had brought her young 
sons with her, their tutor having proposed to em- 
ploy the time of their stay in Miltenberg in a holi- 
day trip, and the two younger children were left at 
home with their governess. This arrangement en- 
abled her to manage her household in the plainest 
manner during the time of her absence from W.; 
and the pleasure she felt in the attainment of this 
practical minor object of her visit to Therese, had 
no little share in heightening her usual happy 
frame of mind. Baron von Dornick, who liked any 
change, was glad to be in the country once more, 
and seemed as gay as his wife. As for his sons, 
the mere fact that they need keep no regular study 
hours, but could roam at pleasure with their cousins 
through the fields and forests was quite sufficient 
to make them happy. 


226 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


Tims to all appearance the whole company were 
pleasantly situated, except the two persons who had 
been the real cause of this somewhat premature 
mllegiatura of the von Dornick family; Count 
Otto von Guntersberg, as usual, dragged the whole 
burden cf his unconquerable leaden ennui after 
him, and in addition to this he felt almost equally 
tortured by another extremely disagreeable feeling : 
the consciousness that he was once more appearing 
in the character of a suitor, and this time it was 
highly probable it would be in vain. True, the un- 
lucky candidate for matrimonial honors had never 
yet been rejected; he himself had always been the 
one to withdraw before he reached the irrevocable 
point, either because he thought he discovered 
qualities in the lady which might endanger his 
future happiness, or because he learned that she had 
connections or relatives who might prove trouble- 
some, or, and this was most frequently the case, 
because his overtures were too eagerly met. This 
so deeply wounded the fastidious taste of the much 
sought young man, that he frequentlyvfled from a 
nearly concluded betrothal as if it were some im- 
pending danger. He had almost resigned himself 
to the belief that he should soon be obliged to de- 
cide upon some alliance, when the lively and yet 
peculiarly shrewd manner in which Baroness von 
Dornick had spoken of Countess Steinthal as a 
suitable bride, pleasantly excited him. All that he 
heard of Louise elsewhere, increased his curiosity. 


AN INSULT AND ITS REBUFF. 227 

and he eagerly assented to the Baroness’ proposal 
that he should accompany them to Miltenberg. 
But on the way thither, he already regretted his 
readiness, and in consequence became so bored, so 
sulky, that the Baron told his wife, unless the 
Count behaved very differently at Miltenberg, he 
Avould forgive Louise if, spite of his rank and wealth, 
she treated him with all her customary arrogance. 

Count and Countess Steinthal both possessed the 
quiet, composed manners, and ready tact, wliich 
the consciousness of an indisputably lofty position, 
united to the custom of moving in good society, 
easily bestows. They therefore received Count 
Guntersburg with no greater marks of distinction 
than would be due to any honored guest, brought 
to their house by their relatives. ISTo change was 
obvious either in their household arrangements, or 
family life, and everything appeared as if, notwith- 
standing the cordiality with which they welcomed 
their guests, they did not intend to allow their own 
comfortable mode of life to be disturbed, and con- 
sidered the elegant, nay, even lavish manner, in 
which the household was conducted, rendered it un- 
necessary for them to make any special exertions 
for strangers, even though they might be of high 
rank. In one respect. Count Otto found it agreea- 
ble to be treated in this manner ; for lie felt that 
thus all allusion to the real object of his visit was 
avoided, and he was left perfectly free to act his 
pleasure, and with his aversion to any allurements 


228 NOT IN THEIE SET. 

towards the step which, nevertheless, he was anxious 
to take, this treatment made him easier and more 
unconstrained at Miltenberg than he had ever been 
in any similar situation. On the other hand, how 
ever, he had always been accustomed to find him- 
self specially distinguished, and though naturally 
neither arrogant nor exacting, this habit had im- 
perceptibly led him to the belief that he was entit- 
led to this distinction ; and hitherto he had always 
unconsciously claimed and received it. Now, for 
the first time in his life, it did not appear to fall to 
his lot in the degree he thought himself entitled to 
demand. At the same moment he made this dis- 
covery he became conscious of the indignation it 
excited to see himself less highly esteemed than, in 
his own opinion, he considered his due, and this 
failure to satisfy his — according to his own ideas — 
perfectly just claims, produced the same results 
which are generally seen to proceed from arrogance 
and self-conceit. He showed an indifference and 
want of consideration that formed a striking con- 
trast to the quiet, courteous demeanor of his host 
and hostess ; and intentionally displayed the true 
object of his visit, which they studiously sought to 
ignore. It seemed as if he wished to convey in the 
plainest possible manner, that he had come to 
Miltenberg in search of a wife, and while utterly 
careless as to the result of his observations, in- 
tended to conduct them without reserve, and with 
the greatest ease to himself. 

Louise also knew why Count Guntersburg had 


AN INSULT AND ITS REBUFF. 229 

come to her parents’ castle. Her mother, without 
the slightest pity for the young girl’s delicacy of 
feeling, and placing very little value upon the ease 
of manner which she was so carelessly destroying, 
told her all, that she might give her daughter the 
instructions concerning her conduct she consideretl 
necessary. Louise listened to her in silence, appar- 
ently unmoved ; only the frequent change of color 
in her beautiful face betrayed her secret agitation, 
and when the Countess at last impatiently urged 
her daughter for her opinion in regard to the mat- 
ter, the latter quietly replied : “ It would of course 
be no small thing to become the partner of such 
rank and wealth ; but we do not yet know whether 
I shall please the Count. Let us wait till that 
is decided, mamma.” Thus she did not refuse, 
but at the same time made no positive promise. 
Tlie Countess, however, interpreted the remark 
agreeably to her own wishes, and hoped Louise’s 
cleverness and ambition would advance her plans. 

Count Steinthal also had a conversation with his 
daughter about this event. He told her that it 
Avould make him happy to see her in a position so 
worthy of her birth and personal qualities, and 
thought this desirable event would greatly con- 
duce to her mother’s happiness, and thereby secure 
to himself a more peaceful future; yet he did 
not speak of the acceptance of Count Otto’s pro- 
posal as being absolutely necessary, but told her 
he would never suffer any force to be placed upon 
her affections. Louise knew his weakness, when 


230 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


opposed to the Countess, and foresaw that he would 
not be able to protect her ; but she was touched by 
his fatherly care and sympathy, and secretly vowed 
to show her gratitude as far as she was able. 

Couut Steinthal’s family had not yet adapted 
themselves to the French or English custom of 
dinirg at au hourj at which it would be more appro- 
priate to call the meal supper ; and still had dinner 
served at two o’clock in the afternoon. Thus 
during the gloomy season of theyear, with its eai’ly 
twilights, the hours before dinner were sufficiently 
long to attend to any business matters, and afford 
an opportunity to pay visits and make excursions 
in the neighborhood ; while in the long days there 
was plenty of time to take longer walks, drive, 
ride, and receive calls between dinner and supper, 
which was served at nine o’clock ; but at all seasons 
of the year everybody, who was at home, assembled 
in the same room at the Countess’ tea hour. 

Thus we find the family and guests collected in 
the large drawing-room, already mentioned at the 
time of Count Ulrich’s funeral. Night has not yet 
wholly fallen, but in spite of the large windows 
the spacious apartment would already be dark — for 
the deep alcoves with their heavy velvet curtains 
render it difficult for the light to enter — had not the 
chandeliers been lighted, and candles placed on the 
different tables. At one of these sat the young 
Counts Steinthal and their cousins, engaged in 
games of chess and dominoes ; while another sur- 
rounded with sofas and chairs was occupied by 


AN INSULT AND ITS EEBUFF. 231 

Count von Steintlial, Baron von Dornick, their 
wives, and Countess Louise. Count von Gunters- 
burg walked slowly to and fro between this group 
and the open door of an adjoining room, apparently 
listening to an overture the younger Countess and 
her governess were playing on the piano, with more 
skill than taste. 

“ Theresette plays finely,” observed the Baroness, 
“ she is as far advanced as you were at her age, 
Louise, though she does not possess your talent. It 
must be confessed that Fraulein Falk understands 
teaching thoroughly.” 

“ Do you think so, aunt Minna ? ” asked Louise 
carelessly. 

“ Certainly, my dear child. We all know There- 
sette is not nearly so clever as you are ; how else 
could she make the same progress that you did at 
her age ? ” 

“Perhaps,” replied Louise in the same indilferent 
tone as before, “ Theresette is entitled to more 
credit than Fraulein Falk.” 

“ It is very charming in you to take your sister’s 
part, dear Louise ; and I agree with you if you 
think people like Fraulein Falk ought not to be 
over-praised. But one may be allowed to express 
an opinion behind her back, especially as the fact 
is, that — ” 

“ That Theresette is industrious and persevering, 
while I was lazy and superficial, dear aunt,” inter- 
posed Louise quietly, with such a winning smile that 
the Baroness could not be vexed at the interrup- 


232 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


tion. ‘‘ I certainly do not wish to detract from the 
good-will and faithfulness Fraulein Falk devotes to 
her hours of instruction; but believe me, dear 
aunt, to my little sister’s talent and perseverance is 
due the largest share of praise.” 

“You are very fortunate in your children, 
Therese,” said the Baroness. “ Mine are always 
obliged to be driven to study.” 

“ As for that, with the exception of Theresett- 
chen, I fare no better. The boys are almost as 
averse to labor as Louise.” 

“ Vfell, it Avasn’t necessary for her to exert her- 
self much,” said the Baron, “ she has learned quite 
enough. Isn’t that so, Loulou ? ” 

“Yes, uncle,” replied the Countess with the same 
careless courtesy, “I can jingle the piano, em- 
broider, crochet, read novels, and — which is perhaps 
my only useful accomplishment — make tea.” 

With these Avords she seated herself behind the 
dainty Sevres cups to pour out the fragrant bever- 
age ; and she did so in such a pleasant, graceful 
manner that Count Otto involuntarily paused in 
his Avalk to observe the charming Hebe more closely. 

“You slander yourself, my child,” said Count 
Steinthal as his daughter passed the cups, “ I can- 
not be iM so often without knowing wliat a kind 
gentle nurse you are, and how frequently you act as 
my private secretary.” 

“ Oh ! papa, hoAV can you mention such common- 
place occupations in good society ? ” asked Louise 
jestingly, but in a far Avarmer tone than she had 


AN INSULT AND ITS REBUFF. 233 

formerly used. ‘‘You are praising me for the 
qualities of a soeur grise^ or a clerk.” 

Meantime Count Guntersburg had approached 
the table, thrown himself into a chair at Louise’s 
side, rested one arm on its high back, and closed 
one eye while with the other he looked at the 
Countess through his hand, which was doubled in 
the shape of a tube, as coolly and unconcernedly as 
people gaze at a work of art in a picture gallery, 
or similar place of resort. Louise saw it, and a dark 
angry flush rose to her brow, covering her beautiful 
neck and snowy throat ; and she thus remained 
motionless at the table, holding the silver waiter 
in her hand. An embarrassed silence followed. 
Spite of the Countess’s usual tact, no more skillful 
mode of breaking the pause occurred to her, than 
the awkward question : “ Louise, why do you not 
offer the Count some tea ? ” 

“ The Count,” replied Louise in a firm tone — but 
the effort it cost her to speak calmly was so great 
that she herself felt the deathlike pallor that fol- 
lowed the deep flush— “ the Count is now occupied, 
mamma, in making studies of the changes of color 
in my face, and I thought, as your guest, I owed 
him sufficient respect not to interrupt his scientific 
investigations.” 

This reply, spite of its justice, would only have 
increased the painfulness of the situation, had not the 
Count, notwithstanding his faults, possessed a very 
kind heart. He saw that the Countess had reason 
to feel insulted, and her courage in openly asserting 


234 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


her right to an atonement, not only to him, but in 
her parents’ presence, forced upon him the convic- 
tion that he had to deal with a frank, truthful char- 
acter. This knowledge instantly produced a high 
esteem for the Countess, and an equally sincere re- 
gret for having offended her. Wholly unaccus- 
tomed to place any constraint upon himself, he did 
not hesitate to express his feelings, and try to 
soothe Louise’s well-founded indignation. “For- 
give me. Countess,” he said imploringly, “ for I 
need your pardon, although I do not deserve it. 
Yet there is some little excuse for me, and you are 
not wholly free from blame yourself, gracious 
Countess. Why are you so beautiful that we forget 
everything else, and so cold that you resemble a 
marble statue rather than a living, sensitive human 
being? But I will not seek to lessen my crime in 
your eyes ; it is so great that I feel I dare hope for 
pardon only from your generosity.” 

While he was speaking, Louise had regained her 
usual composure, and looking at the Count without 
the slightest agitation, replied with perfect calm- 
ness: “You are less to blame. Count Guntersburg, 
than the society which spoiled you until you be- 
lieved everything was at your service, and you had 
a right to gratify every caprice. You have seen 
that I do not share this ojiinion ; permit me now to 
assure you that you are not of sufficient consequence 
to affect me unpleasantly more than a moment. 
Ulrich, have you finished your game? Very well 
then, come here and get your biscuits. Ferdinand 


AN INSULT AND ITS REBUFF. 


235 


can take the tea-cups ; he is more careful than the 
others, and won’t spill anything.” 

The hoys came up to the large table to get their 
little luncli, which Louise gave them with her usual 
quiet kindness. No greater vivacity, more eager 
gaj^ety, or unusual attention to any*thingor person, 
revealed how deeply moved she really was. She 
would have died rather than betray her agitation, 
awid she firmly maintained the mask of calm indif- 
ference, until, at a late hour, she entered her own 
room. 

Her steadfast composure had restored the others 
to their usual equanimity ; Count Guntersburg was 
the only person who did not seem like himself. He 
probably understood that there was more contempt 
than forgiveness in the Countess’ reply, but he 
admired her pride and frankness. He perceived 
that she had an independent will, as well as judg- 
ment, and that unless he could win both to his side, 
it would be impossible for him to obtain her hand, 
even though her parents should use the most loving 
persuasions, or pitiless compulsion. Thus if his 
choice fell upon Louise, there would be a necessity 
to woo her in earnest, and also the possibility of a 
rejection. Thoughts such as: “You must really 
exert yourself if you wish to win her favor ; ” 
questions like : “ Suppose she should not care for 
me? Is it possible that she would refuse my 
hand?” arose in his mind for the first time, and 
seemed amusing from their very novelty. True, 
there was something in such thoughts and questions 


236 


NOT IN TIIEIK SET. 


which humiliated his pride, irritated his self-love; 
but even this irritation, it seemed to him, was 
better than the death-like ennui whose helpless 
prey he had been so long. He felt an interest in 
something, anl rousing himself from his apathy, 
once more had ?in eager emotion, a real desire, a 
true genuine anxiety. These doubtful possessions, 
which the majority of men would consider a great 
misfortune, put the Count in such a pleasant humor 
that during the remainder of the evening, hejoined 
in the conversation with unusual vivacity and ani- 
mation. Every one, except Louise, thought this 
merriment was assumed to conceal the annoyance 
and anger caused by the Countess’ reproof; Louise, 
however, was too*keen sighted not to perceive that 
his gayety was real, and as she could not discover 
its true source, looked upon it as a fresh insult, and 
fancied he took delight in having annoyed her, and 
would not trouble himself to conceal his satisfac- 
tion. 

On entering her room, she dismissed her maid for 
the night. As soon as the girl had left the apart- 
ment, the Countess gazed hastily and sharply 
around the chamber, as if to convince herself that 
she was quite alone, threw herself into the nearest 
chair, and burst into violent, convulsive sobs. Even 
now, when Nature so imperiously asserted her 
rights, the young girl maintained a portion of the 
self-control by which she had completely deceived 
those who had surrounded her. Passionately as her 
tears flowed, she wept almost inaudibly, and al- 


AN INSULT AND ITS IlEBUFP. 


237 


though her whole frame trembled with tlie violence of 
her suppressed sobs, not a limb moved. If her pride 
enabled her to maintain perfect composure, under 
all circumstances, while in the presence of others, 
her self esteem taught her to keep her emotion 
within bounds, even when entirely alone and deeply 
agitated. 

Still she was far too much engrossed in her own feel- 
ings to heed any sound from without, and thus she 
failed to hear a low knock at her door, the noise of 
its opening, or the soft tread with wliich her motlier 
moving slowly over the carpeted floor, approached 
her. The Countess paused before her daugliter, 
measured her from head to foot with a cold, scorn- 
ful glance, and then called her by name, in a harsh, 
stern tone. Louise started and looked up ; she did 
not rise, but her tears ceased to flow, and she asked 
in a perfectly calm voice : “ Did you want anything, 
mamma ? ” 

The Countess answered by another question: 
« Why are you weeping ? ” 

Do you not know, mother? ” replied Louise in 
a choking voice. 

“ Of course I know, you unreasonable creature ! ” 
was the answer; “over the loss of a brilliant future, 
which you have destroyed.” 

“ Certainly not, mamma ; if you think so, you 
know very little of my wishes and feelings.” 

“ Of course I think so ; what other cause should 
you have for tears ? ” 

“ What other cause ? ” asked the Countess, now 


238 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


rising with sudden vehemence, and standing haugh- 
tily erect before her mother. “ Do you ask me 
that, you, my mother ? I have been disgraced be- 
fore your eyes, at your side, and you ask the cause 
of my grief, my anger ? ” 

“ Disgraced ? What disgraced you, except your 
own violence ? ” said the Countess coldly. 

“ My violence ! Now, yes, now I am violent ; for 
my blood boils to see you intentionally overlook 
the insult offered to me ; but did you hear even one 
CAcited tone from me in the drawdng-room ? ” 

“No, but your voice had a cutting coldness more 
offensive than the greatest violence, and the 
Count — ” 

“ Oh ! this Count,” interrupted Louise, “ this 
Count — is a man permitted to adopt such manners 
towards a sjiotless lady, merely because he is the 
worthless heir of great wealth ? This to me — to 
me — in my father’s house ! If he had treated my 
poor waiting-maid so, in her father’s and brother’s 
presence, he would have received a fitting punish- 
ment ; but who protects, who avenges me, unless I 
do so myself, with the pitiful weapons which are at 
a woman’s command ? ” 

“Pitiful, indeed ! Your whole conduct is pitiful. 
What young lady of good sense and education 
would have behaved as you have done tow^ards a 
man like Count Guntersburg ? ” 

“Every one, mamma, every one, who in addi- 
tion to the usual calculating upon future advan- 
tage which unfortunately lies so near the hearts of 


AN INSULT AND ITS REBUFF. 


23S 


US poor aristocratic girls from our very cradles, bad 
still preserved the smallest remnant of womanly 
feeling, Avomanly dignity ! Am I a picture exposed 
for sale ? an actress whose play of expression every 
spectator may freely criticize, because he has paid 
to do so ? This to me, before my mother’s eyes, at 
my father’s table ! To feel that this man sits beside 
me, noting with his bold eyes the changes of color 
in my face, the throbbing or fluttering of my 
pulses, not to draw therefrom some omen for his 
happiness, his hopes, but to decide whether the ob- 
ject offered him is really worth accepting with a 
tolerable amount of graciousness.” 

“ What wild mad words are these ? ” said the 
Countess with cold cq^j^t. “You are your 
father’s own daughter, ran tastic, passionate, and 
uncontrolled like him, and like him incapable, even 
to secure your own happiness, of maintaining your 
position without aid from others.” 

“ Uncontrolled— I ? That accusation is too ground- 
less for me to take the trouble to contradict it, 
mamma. And oh ! — my father — your character 
is defamed to degrade your daughter. I love him 
far more in his dreamy sadness, than you with your 
energy, so reckless of others. But I will show you 
that I have sufficient firmness in my nature to make 
myself independent of you, and punish the insolence 
of this grand seigneur,^'* 

Little as Louise loved her mother, never until 
this hour had she failed in the respect which was 
her due; for she was faithful to her duties, as far 


240 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


as her deficient education had taught her to recog- 
nize them ; hut to-day the Countess’ assault upon 
her father’s character, and her unwomanly indifier- 
ence to Guntersburg’s insulting conduct, had deeply 
wounded her daughter’s affectionate and maidenly 
feelings, and thus occasioned the improper tone 
Louise adopted towards her. Her astonishment 
was equal to her indignation, and she replied with 
insulting severity: “ Undutiful . creature, do you 
speak so to your mother ? Does it not prove that 
you are just what I described you, you spoiled 
child of a foolish father ? You will make yourself 
independent ? May you soon, very soon succeed 
in doing so, and in a way which will rid me of 
you.” ^ , 

“ May it be so,” replied Louise with equal stern- 
ness, as her mother looked at her scornfully with an 
expression of almost positive hatred, and left the 
room. 

The Countess gazed after her retreating figure 
till the door closed behind her, then returned to her 
seat with a slow, measured step, and leaning her 
burning cheek upon her hand, remained motionless 
for a long time, absorbed in deep earnest medita- 
tion. When she at last rose, the candles burning 
low in their sockets, but dimly lighted the large 
old-fashioned chamber ; the moon, almost ready to 
set, cast livid, bluish rays upon the dark wainscot- 
ing, and shed a cold mysterious gleam upon the 
tarnished gilt frames of some old family pictures 
on the walls ; a cold dusky twilight hovered around 


AN INSULT AND ITS REBUFF. 


241 


the dark tapestry and curtains ; Louise’s pallid face 
was also cold and gloomy, but resolution and 
firmness were clearly expressed in it, as distinctly 
as a human countenance could reveal the feelings 
of the soul. 


•242 


NOT IN TUBili SET. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

CONTRASTING CHARACTERS. 

Old Herr Berger, his two sons, and his faithful 
book-keeper were assembled in the private office. 
Tlie merchant sat at his Avriting-table, which was 
covered with books and papers ; selecting a paper 
from the pile, he handed it to his sons. 

“ This is the inventory of your mother’s legacy, 
legally made out and certified,” said he, “you can 
examine it, and will find that I have to pay each of 
you the sum of 26,167 thalers, 20 groschens and 3 
pennies, including the interest I owe you, from the 
time Leo attained his majority until to-day, as you 
will see by my book-keeper’s enclosed calculation 
of interest.” 

“ It is undoubtedly correct,” said Leo, smiling, 
“ Herr Hensmann surely would not make a mistake 
in reckoning.” 

“ It would be the first for many a year,” said the 
book-keeper, bowing politely in acknowledgment of 
the compliment. He felt cheered and flatterecLby 
Leo’s kindly words; but nevertheless, liis eyes 


CONTRASTING CHARACTERS. 


248 


rested with unmistakable anxiety upon Rudolph, 
who seemed to be examining the papers handed to 
him as keenly as if he were dealing with a total 
stranger, instead of his father. At first the young 
man’s countenance expressed earnest but calm atten- 
tion ; suddenly a disagreeable change appeared on 
his features, he cast an agitated glance at his father, 
then looked again at the paper in his hand, and said 
roughly: “ISTo, I can’t agree to this.” 

“ To what, Rudolph ? ” asked his father sternly. 

“ The interest reckoned here is only five per 
cent. — you would have been obliged to pay any 
banker six ; any other merchant would have given 
me six, and I demand the same from you.” 

Herr Berger was about to make an angry reply, 
but Leo anticipated him. “ For shame, Rudolph,” 
he exclaimed, “ to reckon so sharply, and speak so 
to your father. I don’t understand how you can 
do so.” 

“ Speak for yourself, and leave me to manageably 
own affairs,” replied Rudolph. “ I can demand six 
per cent., father, and I do demand it.” 

“Sharp — Herr Rudolph is terribly sharp,” mur- 
mured the book-keeper, but no longer in the tone 
of complaisant admiration, with which he had for- 
merly spoken of this trait in the character of the 
eldest son of the house. 

Leo again spoke. “Rudolph,” said he gravely, 
“ if father considers five per cent, sufficient, it un- 
doubtedly is, and it does not become us to say a 
word against it.” 


244 


KOT IN THEIR SET. 


“ Oh ! it does not become you ? ” asked Rudolph 
ironically. “ Very likely; but it is quite a different 
affair with me. The money the firm of Berger 
saves by the arrangement is an advantage to you, 
but not to me.” 

“ Oh ! Rudolph,” said Leo in astonishment, “ how 
can you reckon so closely, when you are only deal- 
ing with your father and brother, who certainly do 
not wish to take advantage of you.” 

“Don’t they? Well, so much the better; then 
I shall get my six per cent.” 

, “You shall have it,” said Herr Berger, deeply 
angered, and his eyes, which had wandered from 
one son to the other, now rested gloomily upon 
Rudolph’s cold features. “ Calculate exactly, 
Hensmann, how much must be added to the sum 
already specified, that not a penny may be lacking 
— I thought I was dealing with my sons, and in- 
tended to give them what, under similar circum- 
stances, I should have taken from them : but I see 
I was mistaken, and we will give these young men 
no opportunity to accuse us of dishonesty.” 

“ Do not think so badly of us, father,” said Leo 
imploringly, “ Rudolph was excited — ” 

“ Yes, Rudolph was excited,” interrupted his 
father vehemently, “ and is still excited with the fear 
that the firm of Berger may make a profit out of 
him ; as if after my death, he would not have his 
share of all the gains of the firm I But enough of 
this — Hensmann, prepare the account and give it to 
the gentlemen, that they may be sure it is correct.’ 


CONTRASTING CHARACTERS. 


245 


Dear lather,” Leo again interposed. 

“ Hush — Hensmann, we will pay the two gentle- 
men the balance due them.” 

‘‘ But sir,” interrupted the book-keeper timidly. 

“ Do as I told you,” said the merchant roughly, 
and the faithful clerk went into the counting-room 
with drooping head, while the father and sons re- 
mained *in a very painful situation. Rudolph ap- 
parently re-read the paper he still held in his hand, 
but was really wishing for the book-keeper’s return, 
for he felt painfully embarrassed; Leo gazed 
anxiously at his father, who stared gloomily into 
vacancy. At last Hensmann returned with the ac- 
count, which the merchant held out to Rudolph 
with the question : “Is that correct?” 

“ Yes, father.” 

“ Ah ! Herr Berger,” the book-keeper now tim- 
idly observed. “ You ought not to be so angry, 
and not allow your sons to say another word. I’m 
sure Herr Rudolph meant no great harm, and if 
you should make him the offer you intended, he 
would embrace it with open arms.” 

“ What offer ? ” asked Rudolph eagerly. 

“I have no offer for you,” replied old Berger 
sternly. “ You withdrew from the ffrm on your 
wedding-day — this morning you have lost my con- 
fidence.” 

Rudolph cast down his eyes in confusion ; but 
■ was vexed with himself for the weakness, for he 
knew he had not behaved in a manner unseemly for 
a clever merchant. At the same time, he was 


246 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


burning with a desire to know what oifer was to 
have been made him, and was now withheld. Hens- 
mann came to his assistance. “ Herr Berger,” said 
he, “ I see how deeply Herr Rudolph regrets that 
he has vexed you. You couldn’t give him any 
greater pleasure than by affording him an opportu- 
nity to j)rove his confidence in you.” 

“ Prove my confidence ? How ? ” asked Rudolph 
eagerly. 

“ Be silent, Plensmann,” exclaimed Berger ang- 
rily. “ A man who has once given me to under- 
stand that I intended to overreach liim, can never 
again enter into a business connection with me in 
any manner whatever.” 

“ I am sure, father,” said Leo soothingly, “ Ru- 
dolph had no such meaning. He thought your 
opinion of what was due him a mistaken one, but I 
am sure he did not intend to insult you.” 

“ Ah ! ” replied Berger turning sharply upon 
Leo, “ so you too probably think my opinion about 
what was due you^ a mistaken one ! ” 

“ Oh ! father,” said Leo looking sadly at the 
angry old man. He did not add another word, nor 
was it necessary. His father had already perceived 
the contrast between his former favorite, and his 
less valued son, too distinctly not to feel an unusual 
degree of affection for the latter. He laid his hand 
on his shoulder, and said gently : “ Don’t be 
troubled Leo ; I know your filial love.” 

“ My dear fatlier, Rudolph loves you too, and if 
you will pardon his — I confess — somewhat business- 


CONTEASTING CHAEACTEES. 247 

like manner, and tell us the matter of which Herr 
Hensmann spoke, you will see how gratefully my 
brother will accept your offer.” 

Herr Berger cast a hesitating glance at his eldest 
son, which the book-keeper interpreted as a per- 
mission to speak. “ Yes, yes, we’ll tell them, 
Y/e’ll tell Herr Rudolph and Herr Leo. The matter 
is simply this, Herr Rudolph : Herr Leo while in 
England called our attention to the hide trade with 
the South American republics, and arranged the 
necessary business connections. The matter is 
going on admirably, admirably, and has already 
brought us in many large sums. It would now be 
advantageous to extend this lucrative business, and 
so I — yes, I claim the honor — suggested to Herr 
Berger that he should propose to his sons to leave 
their mother’s property in the firm, at a good rate 
of interest, that we may place our connections with 
BuenosAyres on still firmer foundations.” 

Tliat is really an excellent idea, papa,” said Leo, 
“ and I willingly consent. Do you too, Rudolph ? ” 
“ Yes,” said the latter slowly, “ I should like to 
enter into the business — but I will not lend my 
money on interest. If I can receive my full share 
of the profits of my deposit, I will accept the risk ; 
but no sensible man makes ventures without the 
expectation of a fair return.” 

Leo looked at his father in anxious silence, fear- 
ing the old man might find cause for fresh offenc j 
in his brother’s words, but Berger said quietly : 
“ Be it so — it is of great importance to me to ex- 


248 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


tend my business with South America, and I should 
prefer to give my own sons a share in the profits, 
rather than pay strangers a high rate of interest, 
which in the present situation ol the money 
market, might soon be necessary. Leo you can 
share the business on the same terms as your brother 
— how much will you put in, Rudolph ? ” 

“ I must first talk the matter over with my 
father-in-law. You shall have an answer to-morrow 
evening.” 

“That is perfectly reasonable; your father-in- 
law is entitled to have a voice in the matter. Leo 
and Hensmann can give you the necessary informa- 
tion, that you may be able to afford old Hagendorf 
an exact account of the affair.” 

“ And Herr Leo,” asked Hensmann “ how large 
an interest will you take in the business ? ” 

“ Father must settle that, dear Herr Hensmann, 
you know I always leave the arrangement of all 
such important matters to him.” 

The faithful clerk cast an agitated glance at the 
young man, hut shook his head, as in disapproval. 

“ Hensmann is only half pleased with you, Leo,” 
said Berger with a faint smile, “ he thinks in mat- 
ters of such importance you ought to decide ac- 
cording to your own mature judgment.” 

“ Ah ! Herr Hensmann,” cried Leo merrily, “ you 
surely know that I shall never become a thorough 
business man like my brother, you have told me so 
a hundred times.” 


CONTRASTING CHARACTERS. 


249 


“No, you will never be that,” said his father, 
but he did not utter the words in a disapproving 
tone, and gazed at the young man with such a 
loving, mournful glance that he felt strangely 
moved, almost alarmed. ' 


250 


NOT IN THEIK SET. 


CHAPTER XIX 

IN CONSULTATION, 

After the counting-house was closed for the night, 
old Hensmann had another private conversation 
with his employer. “ This has been a hard day, 
Herr Berger,” said he, thank God, it is over, and 
everything is so well settled.” 

“Well, Hensmann? It is more than bitter to 
stand in such relations towards one’s children. 
But, to be sure, we have now secured a few months 
breathing time, and since C. & Co. still hold out — ” 

“Yes, I don’t know how that happens ; after the 
losses they have sustained, as I am positively certain, 
it is almost a miracle.” 

“ Perhaps they are managing the same way that 
we do,” said his employer bitterly, “ holding out by 
the aid of their nearest, most trusted friends.” 

The book-keeper sighed. “Well, Herr Rudolph 
certainly has no superfluous confidence — that is, no 
generosity. But he must have some faith, or he 
would not leave a thaler in our hands which he 
could withdraw by any possibility.” 


IN CONSULTATION, 


251 


“ And so I am deceiving my own sons,” sighed 
the merchant, resting his gloomy brow on his hand. 

“But I don’t believe Herr Leo is deceived,” 
whispered the book-keeper anxiously. 

“ What ? ” asked Berger starting up. “ What 
do you mean ? — Leo — ” 

“ Sees more clearly than you think.” 

“ But how ? why should he ? ” 

The book-keeper shrugged his shoulders. “He 
is much more clever than we supposed, and has 
learned a great deal in England ; but this is not all 
that sharpens his judgment in relation to our af- 
fairs. I see it daily; he reads more from your face 
than from the books.” 

“ Hensmann,” said the merchant in surprise, “ you 
are beginning to make such strange assertions that 
I fear you are allowing Leo to infect you, and will 
become a greater dreamer than he.” 

“ I have no objection,” replied the old man dryly. 
“Plis fancies will be more profitable to us than all 
Herr Rudolph’s cleverness.” 

Berger cast a searching wondering glance at his 
book-keeper, and then resumed the conversation: 
“ You may be right ; but I should like to know 
how you arrive at such conclusions.” 

“ What conclusions ? ” 

“ Why, for instance, that Leo reads more from 
my face thafi' from the books. Nonsense ! What 
should he see in’ my face ? ” 

“ That you have some secret care, are tortured 
by anxieties, are no longer the same as before.” 


252 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


“For Heaven’s sake! Do you think I betray 
myself so plainly ? ” 

“ To no one but Herr Leo and me. I have heard 
from my father, who was also employed in this 
house, that in its ninetieth year the firm met with 
heavy losses, and for more than three years it was 
doubtful whether it could sustain itself. But my 
father has often told me, that, during all that anx- 
ious time, the master never allowed a stranger to 
see a cloud upon his brow, any more than he would 
permit a flask of Burgundy, or a pound of meat 
the less to be used on his table. You are just like 
him ; no one can perceive any trouble in your face, 
though they rained upon us as thick as hail ; no one.” 

“ I hope so. But you say Leo suspects that all is 
not right ? ” 

“Yes, I say so, and I am not mistaken; and 
therefore I’ve been thinking w^h ether it would not 
be better to tell Herr Leo the plain truth; we 
really owe it to him too.” 

“ Owe it to him ? Why ? ” 

“ If he leaves his mother’s legacy in our hands 
now, he. puts all he has into our business, literally 
all, while Herr Rudolph at his marriage withdrew 
with a handsome portion. If our afiairs go wrong 
— I don’t say they will, but it’s possible — Herr Ru- 
dolph is secured by what he has already received, 
and by his rich-wife; while Herr Leo — I don’t like 
to think how destitute and unprovided he would 
be ! Therefore we ought to tell him fairly what ho 
risks, if he leaves everything in our hands.” 


IN CONSULTATION. 


253 


Old Berger started up, walked restlessly up and 
down the room, resumed his seat, and then left it 
again to stand at the window and gaze now at the 
sky, now at the green foliage of the little garden, 
showing every sign of the most violent mental con- 
flict ; while his old employee watched him anx- 
iously, but carefully abstained from aiding, even by 
a syllable, his answer to the question he had ad- 
dressed to his conscience. He had forced himself 
to call his employer’s attention to the obligation, 
which in his opinion he owed to Leo ; but the mer- 
chant’s decision might prove an injury to father or 
son ; and as the book-keeper’s interest in both was 
almost equally warm, he was determined that no 
consideration should induce him to turn the scale 
in favor of either. 

The room was so still that Hensmann fancied he 
could hear the ticking of his big gold watch, and 
actually started when the merchant suddenly 
turned towards him and said in a hollow tone: 
“ Tell Leo exactly how our afiairs stand — I cannot. 
Do so to-morrow, as soon as Rudolph has gone ; 
and now leave me.” 

After Rudolph’s departure, old Berger and his son 
dined together, talking of all kinds of unimportant 
matters, perhaps because the continual entrance and 
exit of the servant would have interrupted any 
graver topics, perhaps because both were equally 
averse to enter upon the impending conversation, » 
and therefore deferred it. At last they were alone ; 
yet neither uttered a word, but in the same op- 


254 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


pressive silence eat the fruit that formed their sim- 
ple dessert. Berger now rose, pushed hack his 
chair, cast a keen glance at his son, and turned as 
if to leave the room. Leo had also risen. 

“ Father,” said he, “ you will now probably wish 
to rest an hour ; could I see you a moment alone in 
the course of the afternoon ? ” 

“ Has Hensmann spoken to you ? ” 

“Yes, father.” 

“ Then say what you have to say now ^ replied 
the merchant, sinking heavily into a chair. 

Leo sat down near him, and began in a most af- 
fectionate tone : “Dear father, when I tell you that 
it has grieved me deeply to see you so troubled, 
you will believe your son, and think the request I 
now make: that you should make use of every- 
thing I am and have, without scruple or reserve, 
entirely unnecessary.” 

“ I thank you, Leo,” said the merchant pressing 
his hand, “ and I confess I scarcely expected you to 
take any other course ; yet it grieves me that in 
order to hold out I am forced to accept all you 
olfer.” 

“ Of course, father, that is perfectly right. The 
firm and its honor lie as near my heart as yours ; 
why should I not stake everything to maintain its 
former reputation ? ” 

“ But if we don’t succeed in doing so, if we 
fail—” 

“ Do not yield to such sorrowful thoughts, father. 
Hitherto you have labored and struggled with your 


IN CONSULTATION. 


255 


cares alone ; let us hope that it will prove some 
support to you, if from this hour, I stand by your 
side with all the loyalty of a son, and all the 
strength God has bestowed upon me.” 

“ May Heaven bless your good intentions Leo ; 
but we are in a difficult position ; a difficult posi- 
tion which may perhaps last for years. I am truly 
sorry that, even under the best circumstances, I am 
compelled to embitter your youth.” 

“ My youth ! ” replied Leo sorrowfully. “ It lies 
behind me with all its joys and hopes, and hence- 
forward I have no other object in life than to lighten 
your cares as much as possible.” 

My poor boy! I fear I have heeded you and 
your happiness too little, been too careless of what 
apparently has deeply affected you. But believe 
me, I could not, dared not do otherwise.” 

“ I know how good your intentions were, father, 
— Margarethe also rendered them full justice. But 
all that is over. I wished to make you another re- 
][uest.” 

‘‘Another — what does it concern?” 

“ The affair with Rudolph, father. I must earn- 
estly entreat you not to put any of his money into 
your business.” 

“ Why not ? If Hensmann told you all — ” 

“ He did— all.” 

“You must perceive how urgently we need every 
thousand we can obtain from any source. It would 
cause us the greatest embarrassment if we were 
compelled to dispense with the fifteen or twenty 


250 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


thousand thalers I hope to receive from Rudolph.” 

“ There might possibly be some embarrassments, 
father, but I hope we should overcome them. We 
are certainly in no immediate danger; our difficul- 
ties, with the exception of a few trifling losses, are 
caused solely by the delay of the house of C & Co. 
in making the large payments they have owed us 
for a year. So long as the house does not fail, so 
long as the supposed losses we shall sufier by them 
are not known, our credit is not impaired and we 
can discharge our most pressing obligations with 
the means that remain. If C. &> Co. fail, or even 
if their liabilities become noised abroad, it will 
recoil upon us in consequence of our well-known 
and numerous transactions with the firm. We shall 
then fail too, unless some friendly hand kindly and 
trustfully lends us means to withstand the first 
storm.” 

“ I know all that,” said Berger somewhat harshly, 
“ but I don’t see what it has to do with Rudolph.” 

“ Have patience a moment longer, dearest father, 
— you have given me my free choice whether, 
under the existing circumstances, I would share 
your business or not ; bestow this confidence on 
Rudolph, who as your son must prize the honor of 
the firm of Berger above everything — or,” he 
paused. 

His father asked anxiously : “ Or — ? ” 

“ Or do not let him unconsciously share the dan- 
gers which we are about to encounter. Rudolph — 
I was ashamed of it yesterday — but I could not help 


IN CONSULTATION. 


257 


perceiving that he has a selfish, suspicious nature. 
If he sustained any injury through us, he would 
make us feel it more pitilessly than the greatest 
stranger, and I would gladly spare you this pain, 
inflicted by your own son. On the other hand, you 
are his father, and have always shown him so much 
affection, tieated him so generously and kindly on 
the occasion of his marriage, that in the hour of 
misfortune he cannot help feeling as your son, and 
must perceive with grateful emotion that you spare 
him now, without regard to your own advantage ; 
and if he then aids you for a short time with the 
large sums which, through his father-in-law’s assis 
tance, are at his command, we shall withstand the 
crisis and the firm of Berger will be stronger than 
ever. 

The merchant walked slowly up and down the 
large dining room shaking his head as he listened 
to his son’s words. When Leo paused, he again 
sat down beside him and said : “ I assent to your 
antecedents, but your conclusion is not correct. I 
too have perceived Rudolph’s narrow avaricious 
nature ; but I have seen farther, and, I fear, more 
correctly than you. I shall find him no support, 
no consolation in the hour of need, nay, he will 
reproach me, little as I am to blame for the misfor- 
tune that has fallen upon me, because he will con- 
sider it detrimental to the amount of honor and 
distinction to which he believes himself entitled. 
Woe betide me if he suffers any material loss which 
I cannot immediately make good ! iS'^o, you are 


258 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


right ; we will break off all business relations with 
him ; but neither will we hope for anything at his 
hands. From you, Leo, you alone, aid must come 
to me or I am a ruined man.” 

“Surely, dear father,” stammered Leo deeply 
moved, “you know I am ready to do everything in 
my power for you.” 

“ Everything, Leo, everything ? ” asked his 
father in a significant tone. 

“ What would I not do, dear father ? ” replied 
Leo in surprise. 

“Would you, to save me from ruin, resolve to 
make a — wealthy marriage ? ” 

“ Dear father ! Oh ! have you thought of this 
seriously ? ” 

“How you shrink, how pale you have grown! 
In future think what the word ‘ everything ’ means 
before you utter it ; but do not forget that a day 
may come when you must either sacrifice your 
father, or the last memories of your youthful 
dream.” 


COUNTEEPABTS. 


259 


CHAPTER XX. 

COUNTEEPAETS. 

Ever since the evening when Louise felt so bitterly- 
insulted by Count Guntersburg, it seemed as if all 
the gentle elements in her nature had been forced 
into the background, if not conquered forever, by 
sterner harsher emotions. True, she had never 
seemed mild and affectionate except towards her 
father ; but neither had she shown £^ny sharpness 
of manner. But now open arrogance replaced her 
former indifference ; her cold smile grew bitter, her 
quiet bearing positively repellant. Baroness von 
Dornick perceived the change with surprise, almost 
alarm. She regretted having done anything in be- 
half of such an ungrateful, unreasonable creature, 
and resolved never again to assist in making a 
match except for her own daughter, who was now 
only eleven years old, and therefore would not 
cause her mother any anxiety in that respect at 
present. Countess Steinthal was more than sur- 
prised and alarmed; she was filled with anger and 
chaerrin, and her former aversion to Louise, in- 

0 7 • 


260 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


creased to almost positive hatred towards her own 
child. 

Louise had a difficult position, as Baron von Dor- 
nick following the example of his practical wife, 
studiously neglected her, and her father could not 
shield her from the coldness and ill-will offered to 
her in his own house ; yet she knew how to sustain 
and protect herself amid all the painful scenes she 
was compelled to endure. She seemed insensible to 
the coldness of her relatives, unwounded by her 
mother’s harsh remarks, and even unmoved by her 
father’s anxious kindness. Calm and unshaken by 
the often extremely disagreeable treatment to which 
she was subjected, she persisted in the manner she 
had adopted, that of a passive but unmistakable 
resistance to all external influences, whether friendly 
or hostile ; she appeared to be armed against every 
appeal, even those to which she might otherwise 
have yielded of her own free will. 

Count Guntersburg was at first surprised and, in 
truth, not disagreeably surprised by this firm, self- 
possessed conduct in so young a girl. He doubt- 
less perceived that the contest upon which she had 
entered must be waged against her mother, far 
more than herself, and that the Countess would be 
a stern, unyielding enemy. It amused him to ob- 
serve which of the ladies would develop the greatest 
energy and perseverance ; and that they might not 
lack cause for the struggle, persisted in his atten- 
tions to Louise, and even made them warmer than 
before. If it had hitherto seemed as if he watched 


COUin’BKPARTS. 


261 


the Countess with a certain degree of care, in order 
to learn whether she possessed the qualities he re- 
quired in his future wife, his eyes now followed 
her with interest, nay with a shade of sympathy. 
He no longer tested, he began to admire. The 
time soon came when he was no longer amused but 
attracted. He felt an ever increasing sympathy 
for the beautiful young creature who was battling 
unaided, yet so bravely, for her independence, her 
maidenly rights, and involuntarily took her part in 
the struggle between her and her mother, although 
he knew that the battle was also waged against 
himself. 

Thus matters continued without any decision 
until Summer. Count Guntersburg only needed to 
speak to obtain the consent of Louise’s mother — 
that her father had only a nominal voice in the 
family council had long since been clear to him — 
but he did not utter the words, because he felt that 
the mother’s permission would no longer satisfy 
him, that his happiness required the free consent of 
the daughter, and this, he was forced to acknowl- 
edge, could not yet be hoped for. It was strange, 
very strange to him who had hitherto been so much 
sought, so much courted. He, one of the richest 
men in his country, of a rank second only to his 
JPrince, still handsome and sufficiently young, sued 
— without any certainty of acceptance. He strove 
to win the hand of an insignificant young girl, his 
inferior in rank, wealth, experience and worldly 
knowledge, and he feared the possibility of being 


262 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


rejected When he was not in Louise’s presence 
all this seemed like a fable, an impossibility ; but as 
soon as he stood before her, and saw the proud eyes, 
the cold self-possessed demeanor, he felt only too 
plainly that any proposal from him would be in- 
stantly rejected. 

Baron and Baroness von Dornick had left their 
relatives long before, and it was not allowable fov 
Count Guntersburg to remain longer at Miltenberg. 
But as his wishes harmonized with those of Coun. 
tess Steinthal, and both possessed the art of coming- 
toan agreement upon any subject, if necessary, by 
means of the most distant allusions and apparently 
unmeaning words, the Count when he at last took 
leave, was positively sure that the Countess would 
take her daughter to one of the Taunus springs 
about the middle of August, while she was equallv 
sure of meeting Count Guntersburg there. 

The appointed time arrived, and Louise found her- 
self with her parents at the pretty baths, frequented 
by a large crowd, composed partly of fashionable 
idlers, partly of veritable invalids. The brilliant 
life of gayety and apparent happiness would have 
excited her interest, at least in the beginning, had 
not Count Guntersburg appeared at once, and been 
her constant companion on the promenade, and at 
the springs, balls, and concerts, her unavoidable 
attendant upon every excursion. Thus it became 
daily more difficult for her to maintain her ground 
against her mother, while her parents’ relations 
towards each other grew more and more comfortless 


COUNTERPARTS. 


263 


each day, because the Countess ascribed Louise’s 
offensive conduct to the support she found in her 
blinded father, while the latter made vain, and 
therefore exasperating efforts, to guard Louise’s 
right to a free choice in the selection of her future 
husband. It was wonderful that with his want 
of energy, and love of a quiet life he did not give 
up the struggle sooner ; but he loved Louise with 
all the strength of his nature; she was the image 
and embodiment of the only real, joy that had ever 
fallen to his lot, and he unconsciously cherished the 
idea that he might, in some degree, make amends 
to her for his sins against his early love, and his 
own happiness. 

A small stream divided the narrow valley, which 
was almost entirely filled with the buildings con- 
nected with the springs, and flowed rapidly under 
a bridge. Louise, bending over the railing, was 
gazing with the utmost indifference at the waves as 
they rose and disappeared. Count Guntersburg 
stood beside her. They were, so to speak, alone; 
for her parents were a few paces distant, engaged 
in conversation with an old acquaintance whom 
they were unable to pass with a mere bow. The 
Count could not resist the temptation to take ad- 
vantage of these few minutes, and Louise’s at 
least apparently calm mood, and said in a low tone : 
“ Countess Louise ! You never have a kind word 
or a friendly glance for me, but, I implore you, in 
pity, tell me whether you at least know why, in 
spite of this, I prefer you to all others ? ” 


264 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


“ Yes, I know, Count,” was the quiet reply. 

“ And Countess Louise — dear Louise, will you 
permit me to hope ! ” 

She suddenly turned full upon him, gazed at him 
with a steady searching glance, and asked in an un- 
faltering voice ; “ Hope what. Count Gunters- 
hurg ? ” 

“ That I may at last, be so fortunate as to win this 
dear hand,” replied the Count in a low, hesitating 
tone. 

“ At last ? ” asked Louise sternly, her eyes flash- 
ing proudly, almost scornfully. “ At last ? A few 
weeks ago you seemed to place very little value 
upon the possession. Or do you consider it fitting 
to begin a courtship Avith an insult ? ” 

“ Oh ! Countess, you are cruel ; “ yet I must not 
complain ; I have deserved all your harshness. 
But you are so wonderfully beautiful and pure, 
that I cannot help believing you kind-hearted too, 
so I beseech you to forget the presumption of 
which you have cured me ; forgive a man who sin- 
cerely loves you, because, blinded by the influence 
of a dissolute worldly life, he knew not hoAV to 
prize you at your true value ; and make him good 
and happy by becoming his companion, and wher- 
ever it is necessary — his guide.” 

The Count had spoken rapidly, in a faltering 
voice, and now stood pale and trembling before the 
young girl, who he was well aware, must undergo 
a hard conflict if she did not Avish to yield to the 
suddenly offered temptation to deeply humiliate the 


COUNTERPARTS. 


265 


man, by whom she had once been so pitilessly in- 
sulted. 

Louise was really struggling with the eager 
longing to revenge herself. Her proud lip curled, 
her cheeks flushed, her eyes sparkled. But the im- 
pulse passed ; she looked at the agitated man more 
and more calmly, at last even with an approving 
glance, and said : You are rash. Count, to trust 
yourself in my hands unarmed. You must indeed 
believe me to be kind-hearted, or you would never 
have been able to risk this step ; for you know that 
constraint is powerless with me ; and even if my 
mother’s wishes coincided with yours a thousand 
times, it would notiavail you. For that very reason 
your frank hasty words surprised me ; for you must 
confess I have given you no reason to suppose your 
offer would be accepted. Therefore I was so en. 
tirely unprepared, that I think it would be better not 
to answer either yes or no at present ; I could give 
reasons for both, and this is neither the place nor 
time to discuss them.” 

‘‘ Ah ! ” said the Count, deeply moved, “ I thank 
you for not having rejected me at once and entirely ; 
there is at least a hope in that.” 

‘‘ Do not believe so until you have heard the con- 
ditions which I shall, in any case, attach to my 
consent,” replied Louise with great coldness. 

‘‘ Yet I will not despair. But when can I learn 
your decision ? ” 

“ I will await you to-morrow in my own room an 


266 


NOT IN THEIR SET, 


hour before dinner — but my parents are coming ; 
let us ask in what direction we shall walk.” 

Louise joined her father, Guntersburg approached 
the Countess, and they thus walked in couples 
across the bridge towards the opposite bank. Just 
before reaching it they met a pale elderly lady, 
leaning on the arm of a young girl dressed in deep 
mourning. The narrow space compelled them to 
pass very near each other, and thus Louise looked 
at the young lady more closely than usually hap- 
pens in a chance meeting with strangers. She was 
surprised at the sight of the charming face, which 
in some strange manner seemed familiar, and in- 
voluntarily exclaimed in an under tone : “ How ex- 
quisitely beautiful ! ” This attracted her father’s 
attention, and he too uttered a half suppressed cry : 
“My God, who is this?” he asked in a tone of 
such terror, that Louise looked at him anxiously. 
He had grown very pale, but was evidently striv- 
ing to compose himself, and said in a voice that 
still trembled: “It is very warm; let us make 
haste and get into the shade, my child.” 

They walked rapidly on. The Countess and Gun- 
tersburg also quickened their steps, and as the path 
grew wider, the Count moved to Louise’s side and 
said : “ If you had a twin sister. Countess, I should 
declare that we had just met her.” 

“ The lady in black ? ” asked Louise carelessly. 
“ It is possible that she may resemble me ; her face 
seems familiar.” 

Meantime the Countess whispered in a tone that 


COUNTERPAETS. 


267 


threatened to rob her husband of his hardly won 
composure : “ Who is that, Steinthal ? ” 

“ Whom do you mean ? ” he replied in a tone of 
assumed indifference. 

“ Whom should I, but the young girl in black, 
Louise’s living image ! ” 

“The girl who just met us?” said the Count 
forcing. a smile. “ How should I know, Therese?^” 

“ You do know,” rei^lied the Countess with a 
piercing glance. “ But this is no time for such dis- 
cussions ; we will defer them until we are alone.” 

The walk that followed this little incident was 
anything but pleasant. Louise had again resumed 
all her former repellant coldness towards her lover, 
whose scarcely budding hopes thereby sustained a 
severe shock ; the Countess’ remarks were unusually 
bitter, even for her, and Count Steinthal only par- 
tially succeeded in concealing his anxious mood. In 
the evening he had another violent scene with his 
wife, who refused to believe his most solemn assur- 
ances that he did not know the black robed stran- 
ger. But deeply as he suffered from it, as was in- 
variably the case when the Countess, in her pitiless 
manner, touched the secret wounds of his soul, he 
nevertheless resolved to discover the name of the 
beautiful stranger, who was so strangely like his 
haughty daughter, and bore even a closer resem- 
blance to the unfortunate Helene. 


268 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


CHAPTER XXL 

A STRANGE BEITIOTHAL. 

Countess Louise was alone in her own apartment, 
surrounded by the cheerless elegance which distin- 
guishes the best rooms in large hotels. She had 
occupied it for several weeks, but thus far had done 
nothing to make its aspect more homelike and ki- 
viting. There was no little table drawn up to the 
window to hold a dainty writing desk, or the mate- 
rials for some of the pleasant fancy work with which 
young ladies sometimes while away a leisure hour; 
no half finished drawing, or bouquet of fresh flowers 
revealed a taste for beauty in the occupant of the 
room ; even her books lay piled upon a chest of 
drawers in a very unattractive manner. 

It was only a few minutes before the time she ex- 
pected Count Guntersburg, and she knew he would 
be punctual ; but she betrayed no emotion of any 
kind, and was in truth, perfectly calm. Leaning 
back in one corner of the sofa, she was reading 
with earnest attention a book well calculated to 
enchain so haughty a mind — Goethe’s “ Torquato 
Tasso ” — and enjoyed the beauties of the wonderful 


A STRANGE BETROTHAL. 


269 


poem, ufidisturbed by the near approach of the 
hour which was to decide her fate. She might well 
do so, for her resolution was firm and positive, 
and she knew that her future was in her own hands. 

The Count was announced, and entered the 
room; she calmly rose to receive him, motioned 
towards a chair with equal composure, and silently 
resumed her own seat. He was thus forced to be- 
gin the conversation, and did so with great agita- 
tion. 

“ Countess — dear Louise — I have pome to receive 
my future destiny from your hands. Oh ! tell me 
that it is to be a happy one.” 

“ You give me credit for more power than I pos- 
sess,” replied Louise, and neither blush nor quick- 
ened breathing gave witness of the slightest emo- 
tion. “It depends entirely upon whether, in your 
opinion, you can be satisfied with what I am able 
to offer.” 

“ You do not love me ? You do not believe you 
can ever love me ? ” asked the Count anxiously. 

“ Ho,” replied Louise in a firm harsh tone. 
“You know how you came to us — with the in- 
sulting intention of subjecting Countess Steinthal 
to a test to ascertain whether she would please you, 
and in the insolent assurance that you need only 
stretch out your hand to the willing prey, in case 
you considered it worth taking. Did you suppose 
such was the way to the heart of a maiden, who 
still retained one spark of self-respect ? ” 

“ Countess — in pity, do not recall an error which 


270 NOT IN THEIR SET. 

has caused me more shame and sorrow than I can 
express.” 

“ Did you have any pity for me, when — but 
enough. You know the manner in which you ap- 
peared before me, and I have taken no trouble to 
conceal the deep indignation roused by your inso- 
lent attentions. If I had yielded to the impulse of 
my anger ” — as Louise uttered the words, her eyes 
sparkled and her cheeks glowed with unnatural 
brilliancy — “ had I yielded to my anger, I should 
have rejected your offer yesterday with scorn, re- 
pelled you with horror — but — ” 

“ But ? ” asked the Count, fairly trembling in 
his breathless suspense. 

“ For a moment I wished to do s6, then it oc- 
curred to me that Count Guntersburg would have 
successors, that sooner or lator another would come 
to humiliate me as he had done, and if I drove him 
away, still another. So I thought it would be better 
to content myself with this one degradation rather 
than enter into a perpetual warfare, or perhaps 
when all strength was exhausted, all self-esteem 
lost, become the prey of the worst of the oppo- 
nents.” 

‘‘ And was this the only reason that withheld you 
from rejecting me yesterday ? ” asked the Count, 
turning deadly pale. 

“ This alone,” said Louise. “ You see I am hon- 
est, and would rather appear before you as s sup- 
plicant for protection, than as a deceiver.” 

“You seek my protection from — ” 


A STRANGE BETROTHAL. 


271 


From my mother, and — those like her.” 

A deep silence followed the last word. Louise’s 
glance rested steadily on the Count, who had 
leaned back in his chair and covered his eyes Avith 
his hand. “ And this,” he said at last, looking up 
Avith an expression of mingled soitoav and anger, 
“ this I am to consider as the acceptance of my 
ardent, earnest entreaty for your hand ? ” 

“ By no means, Herr Count,” replied Louise, aa^io 
had again recovered the haughty composure Avhich 
to the Count, was her most irresistible charm ; “ by 
no means Herr Count, you have only learned why 
I am inclined to accept your hand ; the conditions 
upon which alone I would consent to do so, I have 
still to communicate.” 

The Count started up : “You rely upon my love 
very confidently. Countess Steinthal.” 

“^^”0, Count Guntersburg; for I can dispense 
with it, as well as you with mine. This is the very 
point upon Avhich I wished to speak. That I cannot 
love you is perhaps your own fault ; that you do 
not love me is equally certain. You simply see in 
me the woman Avho is capable of filling the posi- 
tion which Avill be assigned in society to your future 
Avife, and probably believe for the moment that you 
have a warmer feeling for me. But I think this is 
a mistake, arising from the novelty of our relations 
towards each other, a mistake you Avill soon per- 
ceive yourself. If after this explanation you still 
persist in your wish to make me yours, I will prom- 
ise to conscientiously and punctiliously fulfil all the 


272 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


duties of your future wife, jDrovided, in return, you 
give me your word never to ask me to lessen tlie 
usual coldness of my manner towards you, or 
change it into warmth.” 

Vain, like the majority of men, almost forced to 
undue self-esteem by the homage of nearly all his 
equals in rank, and ascribing to his love for Louise 
a greater power and influence than she could esti- 
mate, the Count saw no danger in complying with 
her demands. Besides, his attentions to the young 
Countess were tolerably well-known, and he would 
have considered his honor wounded by a vain 
efibrt. Therefore he readily consented to the im- 
posed conditions, and left the room as Louise’s af- 
fianced lover. 


MARGARETHE INHERITS A FORTUNE. 273 


CHAPTER XXII. 

MARGARETHE INHERITS A FORTUNE. 

We have now to discover why the modest Margar- 
ethe left her quiet residence in Bergefort to seek a 
gay watering place ; for that she was really the 
lady who so closely resembled Countess Steinthal, 
our readers can have no doubt. 

It was difficult for her to conquer the shock 
caused by Leo’s sudden appearance, and the irrevo- 
cable separation that immediately followed, and she 
needed a still longer time to regain the beautiful 
calmness which had formerly distinguished her. At 
last, however, she succeeded, although in solitary 
hours she could not yet shut out the whole train of 
sorrowful thought ; but as she knew the peace and 
happiness of her second father depended upon her, 
and that the old man loved her so tenderly that it 
would be scarcely possible to deceive him in regard 
to the real state of her heart, she made the most 
earnest efforts to crush down all sad memories and 
useless longings, and live only in the quiet duties 
and calm enjoyments of the present. This was by 
no means easy, for her natural inclination to dreamy 


274 


NOT IN THEIK SET. 


meditations had been fostered by her lonely life in 
the moorland cottage; and her early separation 
from Leo at a time, when, in consequence of her 
imperfect knowledge of the world and her own 
situation, she still securely trusted in meeting him 
again, had taught her to live less in the present 
than in an eagerly desired, beautiful future. But 
she struggled bravely, and thus could not fail to win 
the victory. She again brightened the old age of 
her benefactor by real unfeigned cheerfulness, and 
once more enjoyed with joyful recognition and 
<Trateful heart the benefits she owed to his care and 
protection. 

How soon she found reason to rejoice over her 
etforts to cheer the declining years of her generous 
relative ! His last day on earth was nearer than 
she had feared. His great age, and a slight weak- 
ness which had stolen upon him during the last few 
months, would probably have been dangerous 
symptoms to an eye more experienced than hers ; 
but Margarethe did not perceive the signs of the 
impending misfortune until it appeared with all its 
agony and terror. A short illness snatched away 
the dear old man, in whose heart she had first 
learned to know how precious is a father’s protec- 
tion, how sweet the feeling of a child. When she 
stood beside his dead body, and was forced to tell 
herself that never more would his lips have a smile, 
his hand a loving caress, his voice a blessing for 
her, she felt as if she had never before known what 
it reall}^ was to be alone and desolate. 


MAEGARETHE INHERITS A FORTUNE. 275 

The world would doubtless have judged very 
differently of the present situation as contrasted 
with her former one. She was now the sole pos- 
sessor of a great, nay for any one below the rank 
of a noble an immense fortune ; for the originally 
large property of the dead man had been increased 
by the income from his lucrative office, and his 
simple mode of life, to an extent of which even his 
most intimate friend, a shrewd old lawyer who 
lived in the Justizrath’s former place of residence, 
had no suspicion. By the dead man’s last will this 
gentleman was appointed Margarethe’s guardian 
and legal assistant, but with the express stipulation 
that he was merely to have the right to advise in 
the settlement of his ward’s affairs, the latter hav- 
ing entire control over the whole inheritance. 

Margarethe in her sorrow had no power to re- 
joice over the treasure that had fallen to her lot, 
nor in her inexperience of the world was she aware 
of the importance such wealth bestows, and even if 
she had known it, she would have placed little 
value upon the fact. She had no wishes that sur- 
passed the bounds of a peaceful life, filled with 
good deeds, and did not even know the advantages 
of wealth in contrast to poverty and care. Poor as 
her life on the moor had been, it had never been 
wanting in anything which, in that region, was 
considered necessary. 

She was determined not to leave her dear old 
home at Bergefort, to which she was still bound by 
the memories of the quiet peaceful years she had 


2V6 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


spent here with the beloved old man, as well as the 
meeting which had assured her of Leo’s unchanged 
love. But she wished to lessen in some degree the 
utter loneliness in which her uncle’s loss had left 
her, and therefore applied to one of the teachers of 
the boarding school where she had spent several 
years after leaving Jost’s cottage. This lady, by 
her wise, gentle character, had won Margarethe’s 
special affection, and after her return to her uncle’s 
house, the latter maintained a constant con-espon- 
dence with her. A short time before, she wrote 
that constant teaching was beginning to exhaust 
her strength, and she had therefore resolved to re- 
sign her position in the school. Margarethe now 
begged her to act upon this resolution as soon as 
possible, and invited her to come to Bergefort and 
try whether the quiet of the little country house, 
united to the care of her grateful pupil, might not 
restore a j:)ortion of her lost health. 

Fraulein Heber gratefully accepted the friendly 
offer. She wrote that she had dissolved her connec- 
tion with the principal of the school before receiv- 
ing Margarethe’s proposal. The physician had pre- 
scribed perfect rest and the use of mineral waters as 
the only means of restoring her shattered health, 
but she herself thought that the first, in connection 
with Margarethe’s nursing and the fresh country 
air, would completely restore her, and therefore at 
the end of the month — for which time she must 
remain at the school — instead of going to some gay 


MARGARETHE INHERITS A FORTUNE. 


27V 


watering place, she would hasten to quiet Bergefort 
with the greatest pleasure. 

The morning of the day when Margarethe ex- 
pected to welcome her old friend arrived, and a 
feeling of quiet happiness stirred the young girl’s 
heart, with the thought that she should now soon 
have some one on Avhom she could lavish her love 
and care, and who would be cordially attached to 
her. With cheerful interest she once more surveyed 
the little preparations she had made for the recep- 
tion of her former teacher, and for the hundreth 
time assured the old cook, who was busily making 
arrangements for an unusually nice dinner, that 
Fraulein Heber was very, very easy to please, and 
she was sure would soon value old Dora as much as 
she herself. 

Then she sat down to her breakfast in a lighter 
mood than she had ever felt since her uncle’s death, 
and gazed through the window over the gravel 
walk to the old linden trees ; the carriage Avhicli 
was to bring her friend would stop under their 
shadow. 

A well known figure now came up the path ; the 
old messenger who brought letters and similar small 
articles from the nearest post-town. He usually 
came across the bridge into the house, although the 
way was a little longer ; for he was always invited 
to rest in the kitchen with Dora, and received in 
Summer a glass of beer, and in Winter a cup of 
hot coffee. He now greeted the young lady with a 
very important, well satisfied air, as if he was 


2'78 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


conscious he was bringing something pleasant. 
Margarethe rose to take his packages in the entry, 
and invite him to go to the kitchen. 

He did not bring much, and Margarethe scarcely 
expected sinything more than a newspaper; she 
haft few ties connecting her with the world outside 
of Bergefort, except those with Fraulein Ileber, 
and she was coming to-day herself ; therefore she 
was almost startled to receive a letter ; for it was 
long before her usual time to have news from dost 
and Anna of Nordhecke. But when she had read 
the missive, she laid it aside with a feeling of re- 
lief; it was from her guardian, and contained only 
business details, and a friendly inquiry about her 
health. She finished her breakfast, and took up 
the paper without any positive object ; regularly as 
she had read it aloud to her uncle every morning, 
she had been so absorbed in her sincere mourning 
that she had scarcely cast a glance at the daily 
news since his death. To-day, however, while 
waiting with joyful impatience for her beloved 
guest, the time seemed long, and she half uncon- 
sciously seized upon it as a means of shortening 
the long hours. Thus her eyes ran over the columns 
with very little interest ; and she reached the ad- 
vertisements on the last page without discovering 
anything which could fix her attention, when her 
glance fell upon words, names — she turned pale, 
and the sheet fell from her trembling hand ; but she 
took it up again, and now fixed her eyes more 
firmly and steadily on the fatal lines. Her pallor 


MAKGAEETHE INHERITS A FORTUNE. 279 

increased, and her whole frame quivered, but she 
did not weep. She might have done so, and the 
tears would perhaps have afforded some relief; but 
she would not. She dared not yield to the grief 
she now suffered, for she thought it her duty to 
conquer it as soon as possible, to pitilessly stifle it. 

She remained absorbed in meditation only a short 
time, then dressed hastily, left the house, took a 
long tiresome walk through the lonely, monotonous 
countTy, paid charitable visits to several sick per- 
sons, and at the end of several hours returned to 
the house utterly exhausted. Her pale face had 
gained a calmer expression, but when she entered 
her quiet chamber, the fair abode of such sacred, 
and hitherto sweet remembrances, fresh sorrow 
overwhelmed her, and throwing herself into a 
chair she covered her eyes with her hands. After a 
short time she rose and went into another room. 
“ I will stay here till Fraulein Heber comes,” she 
said to herself. “ It is fortunate she arrives to-day ; 
it will be best for me to leave Bergefort for a time, 
and she will gladly accompany me.” 

Fraulein Heber arrived, and was welcomed by 
Margarethe with the affection of a child. The 
elder lady rested an hour after dinner, and both 
were noAV seated together in Margarethe’s pleasant 
room ; the former relating a hundred little joys and 
sorrows of the career so lately closed, and Margar- 
ethe listening kindly and sympathizingly, but with 
an expression that betrayed it was costing her an 
effort not to follow quite a different train of thought 


280 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


from that aroused by the eager speaker. The 
latter was so full of the importance of her own 
communications that it w’as a long time before she 
noticed her hearer seemed to have something on 
her mind, which might be of still greater conse- 
quence than Fraulein Clarchen’s insubordination, 
Louise Stein’s heedlessness, and young Auguste 
Biel’s destructive pursuit of pleasure. But scarcely 
had she perceived the forced attention of her young 
hostess, than she gave the conversation another 
turn by the words : “ I see I am very selfish, dear 
Margarethe ; I am incessantly chattering about 
myself and my own little affairs, without asking 
whether you may not have something of far greater 
importance to communicate.” 

“ I see that you still understand how to read my 
face,” replied Margarethe with grateful affection. 
“ Yes — I have something to tell you, a proposal to 
make. You will be doing me a real favor if you 
accept it.” 

“ Go on, my child. You surely know it would 
make me very happy to be able to do anything for 
you; but I cannot guess how I can be of any 
service to you, 

Margarethe smiled faintly. “Yes, you will be 
surprised at my wish. Or won’t you think it strange 
that I, who begged you to share the quiet and 
seclusion of this house with me, now entreat you 
most earnestly, nay, implore you to exchange its 
solitude for a strange place and scenes of gayety.” 


MARGAEETHE INHERITS A FORTUNE. 281 

“ My dear child, I do not understand you.” 

You do not understand me now, but you will 
soon be able to do so. You know my whole 
history — the — stain upon my birth, my poverty- 
stricken childhood with its unconscious depriva- 
tions, its one source of great, conscious happiness. 
You know my whole life, ever since my dear good 
uncle took charge of me, and what remembrances 
he permitted me to cherish, although he showed me 
that there was no hope.” The young girl spoke in 
a gentle quiet tone ; but her pale cheeks gradually 
flushed as she went on, and the hand in which she 
held a newspaper began to tremble. When she 
paused Fraulein Heber drew closer to her, and said 
in a loving, tender voice : ‘‘ My dear, dear Margar- 
ethe, I know all this.” 

“ Certainly — and I also told you whom I met un- 
expectedly here in Bergefort; how he found me 
out, how we both enjoyed an hour of unspeakable 
happiness, and then experienced the bitterness of 
an eternal, irrevocable separation.” 

“ Oh ! my poor child ! Alas ! alas, that this should 
have happened ! I think it would have been better 
if you had never seen him again.” 

“ It would have been better. Then I should not 
have seen his anguish, which seemed as deep as my 
own, and this would not have been such a shock 
to me.” 

She laid the paper before her sympathizing friend, 
and Fraulein Heber read : 


282 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


^^Announcement of Betrothals, 

“Held AH Neuberg. 

“Leo Berger. 

“2> August 5th, 18 

The kind old spinster ! When her eyes first fell 
upon the startling news, she turned as pale and 
trembled as violently as Margarethe herself had 
done. “ Ah ! Margarethe, dear Margarethe,” she 
faltered, “ this news — and that meeting ! And — 
am I mistaken, or is it true that but a short time 
has elapsed since then ? ” 

“ Not quite three months. When he parted from 
me I feared — yes, I feared — he would never over- 
come his grief at the separation ; he seemed so 
deeply moved. And in this room, yonder before 
the picture where my tears flowed after our first 
parting, I prayed for him — scarcely for myself — 
but oh ! how fervently for him. Now my prayer is 
heard, and I ought to be thankful that he has 
learned to forget, after he perceived the uselessness 
of his holies. And I will be grateful ; but this has 
come upon me so suddenly that I have not yet 
found strength to do what has to-day become my 
duty — forget also. And that I may attain this 
necessary object more quickly and completely than 
would be possible for me to do here, I wished to 
beg you, dear Fraulein, to carry out your former 
plan — and take me with you.” 

Fraulein Heber did not make the slightest objec- 
tion to a proposal which seemed extremely sensible. 

Thus it happened that Margarethe met her father 


MARGARETHE INHERITS A FORTUNE. 


283 


and sister on the bridge at the Springs. The Coun- 
tess’ great beauty attracted her ; but the cold sur- 
prise with which the latter, supported by the 
haughty assurance bestowed by the consciousness 
of her rank and her natural independence, gazed at 
the retiring stranger, caused the latter to hastily 
turn her eyes away ; and she therefore failed to ob- 
serve the effect her own face produced upon the 
others. Fraulein Heber, on the contrary, whose 
commonplace appearance protected her from excit- 
ing burdensome attention, had noticed more keenly, 
and observed Margarethe’s striking resemblance to 
the beautiful young lady they met, as well as the 
surprise, almost terror, which had seized upon the 
party on the bridge, at the sight of her young 
charge. As she knew the stain on Margarethe’s 
birth, the incident excited surmises which came 
very near the truth ; but she carefully avoided all 
allusion to them, in order not to excite in the al- 
ready troubled mind of her companion, a new, 
painful, and useless anxiety. 


284 


NOT IN THEIR SET, 


CHAPTER XXin. 
leg’s saceieicb. 

The more interested Leo became in his father’s diffi- 
cult situation, the greater sympathy he felt for the 
proud man, tortured by such oppressive cares. He 
saw more and more clearly that whenever the im- 
pending suspension of the house of C. & Co., oc- 
curred, it would become impossible for him to sus- 
tain himself without the self-sacrificing aid of a 
faithful friend ; and that this assistance would not be 
forthcoming from Rudolph was absolutely certain. 
Leo had arrived at this sorrowful conviction when 
he informed his brother that their father no longer 
desired Rudolph to take an interest in the South 
American business. This conversation revealed the 
young merchant’s utter selfishness in such glaring 
colors, that henceforth Leo hoped for nothing from 
his brother. 

Two days after the interview, Leo and his father 
received an unexpected visit from • Rudolph’s beau- 
tiful wife, who came as an ambassador from her 
father and husband, in an affair which the united 
members of the house of Hagendorf perceived was 


Leo’s sacrifice. 


285 


too delicate to be confided to tbe bands of any me- 
diator less skillful and clever than Emma. Ru- 
dolph, during his conversation with Leo about Herr 
Berger’s refusal to allow him to take an interest in 
his South American business, had obtained a glimpse 
into his father’s affairs, though a very faint one ; 
and as Leo rightly conjectured, considered the mis- 
fortune which had befallen the old and highly re- 
spected merchant, as an offence, a disgraceful wrong 
committed against him. He could not conceal his 
uneasiness about the imjjending disaster, and his 
clever wife soon discovered the cause of his anxiety. 
She insisted that he should tell her father ; and 
although Rudolph at first struggled against making 
his father’s embarrassments, which as yet he only 
vaguely surmised, known to a third person, even 
though he might be nearly connected with himself, 
she succeeded, as usual, in getting her own way. 

The result of the conversation between the three 
heads of the Hagendorf family upon this subject, 
was the unanimous decision that Leo must give a 
new and sufficient support to the tottering bouse, 
by making a wealthy marriage, before the slightest 
rumor of the critical state of his father’s affairs be- 
came noised abroad to render such an alliance diffi- 
cult or impossible. Emma was therefore selected 
to make this delicate proposal to her young brothei*- 
in-law, and at the same time direct his attention to 
the young lady whom, principally on account of 
her shining qualities, seemed especially suited to 


286 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


become the sister-in-law of so distinguished a lady 
as Emma Berger, nee Hagen dorf. 

She arrived in D with her eldest daughter, 

saying she wished to spend a few days with her 
relatives there, because her own house seemed so 
lonely while her husband was away on a short jour- 
ney. She was at once cordially welcomed, and 
treated with the utmost civility and attention, but 
found it far more difficult to execute her commission 
than she had expected. In reply to a hint in regard 
to her designs upon Leo, which she addressed to her 
father-in-law, clothed in the guise of a jest, he an- 
swered gravely that he was sure Leo would never 
make any choice without his consent, but tliat he 
himself was also determined never to urge his son 
to any marriage which did not accord with his own 
wishes. She found it even more difficult to offer 
her advice to Leo himself. His quiet, extremely 
courteous manner, which precisely because he ob- 
served every punctilio of etiquette, permitted no 
forced confidence, made it almost impossible to 
effect any approach without open obtrusiveness, 
for which he afforded no pretext ; and she dared 
not offend him, if she did not wish her plan to lose 
all prospect of success. 

But Emma Berger was a resolute woman. On 

the morning after her arrival in D , she turned 

to her brother-in-law with a request that he would 
accompany her to pay a few visits in the city. 

“ With pleasure, if father can spare me so long,” 
replied the young man unsuspiciously. 


Leo’s sacrifice. 


287 


“ Of course we can do without you a few hours. 
Tlie boy has scarcely put his nose into the books, 
and already thinks himself indispensable,” added 
his father playfully. “ But I am afraid our even- 
ings will seem long to you, my daughter ; can’t you 
persuade some of your friends to take tea with you 
ill the garden, or share our supper ? ” 

‘‘ You are very kind to give me permission, papa, 
and I will avail myself of it. I shall be very glad 
to spend a few hours with my old schoolmates, 
Clara and AnnaFritzen, or Huldah ISTeuberg.” 

Huldah Neuberg was the young lady on whom 
she had especially fixed her attention, Fraulein 
ISTeuberg was very wealthy, and what was of the 
greatest importance' under the circumstances, the 
fortune was not prospective, but already in her 
possession. She was her mother’s only child by a 
former marriage, and had come of age several 
months before, since which time the larger portion 
of her dead father’s considerable property had been 
at her own disposal. As she was also tolerably 
pretty and agreeable, people often wondered why 
she had not fbund a husband. The reason was a 
certain vein of romance in the young lady’s char- 
acter, which led her to desire her future husband to 
possess all manner of qualities which were not usu- 
ally to be met- with among the young merchants of 
her native city, although it possessed men who 
were the equals of pretty Huldah FTeuberg in 
every respect. 

“ If I understand you correctly,” said Leo as he 


288 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


offered his arm to hu elegantly attired sister-in- 
law, “ some of these young ladies whom we are to 
visit had the pleasure of being in the same boarding- 
school with you.’’ 

“ Yes, we were together at Mannheim.” 

“ And 5^11 have never seen them since ? 

“Yes, I have met them ; but only at rare inter- 
vals and for a very short time.” 

“ Then I can easily imagine your pleasure in once 
more entering into a longer intercourse with your 
schoolmates. Let us hope you will find the ladies 
all you expect, dear Emma.” 

“ What do you mean Leo ? ” asked Emma in 
surprise. 

“ Why — I don’t know whether it is owing to the 
beautifying power of memory, or the imperfect 
judgment of our youth, but the picture Ave preserve 
of the companions of our early life is very different, 
and often far more attractive than we find the 
reality, after a few years separation.” 

“ Does the fault lie wholly in memory, or in our 
own opinions ? ” asked Emma. 

“ Where else could it be ? ” said her companion 
ill surprise. 

“ In the change that has taken place in ourselves. 
We have advanced, obtained a Avider circle of 
vision, established a higher standard of measure- 
ment, and Avhat once seemed to suit us so AA^ell no 
longer satisfies us. But isn’t that the Fritzen’s 
house? Yes, Clarchen is sitting at the windoAV, 
and has recognized us.” 

O 


leg’s sacrifice. 


289 


Daring the visits that now followed, Leo had an 
opportunity of seeing proofs of his sister-in-law’s 
words. Emma greeted all her friends Avith great 
cordiality, and continued to be very atfable until 
the end of the call, but became, as if involuntarily, 
somewhat colder and more reserved, and seemed 
to experience a little disappointment. There was 
but one exception, and that was in favor of Huldah 
hTeuberg, whom from first to last Emma treated 
with the cordiality and affection of a sister. Here 
the Present seemed to mingle with a fair happy 
Past, without the slightest difficulty, and she ap- 
peared to perceive no other difference between her- 
self and Huldah, than the one which must neces- 
sarily exist in the position of a married lady and a 
young girl, although she secretly acknowledged 
that there was another distinction, very much in 
her OAvn favor. Unsuspicious as Leo was, he could 
not help noticing some design in his companion’s 
conduct, although so carefully concealed, and Avhen 
on their return home she was full of praises of 
Huldah Heuberg’s loveliness, he looked her steadily 
in the eyes and said : ‘‘ Although my very superfi- 
cial acquaintance with these young ladies did not 
enable me to discover any difference between them, 
I could not fail to observe that Fraulein Heubergis 
your favorite.” 

Clever Emma Berger felt fairly trapped ; but she 
did not relinquish her design. Invitations were 
given and received, Leo was intentionally brought 
into Fraulein Heuberg’s society, and now that his 


290 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


shrewd danghter-in-law’s efforts were directed 
towards a definite and practical object, old Berger 
involuntarily joined her, although her plans had at 
first greatly excited his indignation. Was Leo to 
be a bachelor because he had once indulged in a 
foolish dream ? And, in truth, a match like the 
one with Huldah IsTeuberg, which would put an end 
to the embarrassments of the firm at a single blow, 
must be such a desirable thing for Leo, as well as 
his father, that it would be impossible for the young 
man to oppose it seriously. The matter was already 
so skillfully introduced, also ; really Emma had not 
an equal among all the ladies of her father-in law’s 
acquaintance. 

Leo perceived all these designs ; but instead of 
being irritated, w^as, so far as his anxious situation 
' permitted, amused by them. He consented to be 
Huldah’s neighbor at table, her partner in a cotil- 
lion, or her companion on a walk ; but he did all 
this only in compliance with a direct request, and 
never, even for a moment, went beyond the bounds 
of ordinary social courtesy. He always addressed 
her in the calm quiet tone of an indifferent acquain- 
tance, and no warm, or even jesting word ever les- 
sened the distance he was determined to maintain 
between Fraulein Neuberg and himself. 

Bat this could not prevent the young lady her- 
self from becoming interested in him, in her own 
half trifling, half sentimental fashion. She thought 
the young man — and with reason — uncommonly 
handsome ; fancied he had a chivalrous manner, 


leg’s sacrieice. 


291 


although in reality especially towards her, it was 
remarkably grave and cold; and having heard 
something about a romantic youthful attachment, 
magnanimously resolved to..console the interesting 
mourner. 

As Leo was convinced that he should never, 
under any circumstances, be able to cherish any 
warmer feelings towards Huldah Neuberg, he as 
usual with men, took no notice of hers, and being 
wholly absorbed in the constantly increasing en- 
tanglements of his father’s business, it also entirely 
escaped his attention that others, as well as Huldah, 
were beginning to look upon him as her future 
husband. 

The house of C. & Co. still held out, and had 
even shown their gratitude for the discretion of 
the friendly house of Berger in keeping silence in^ 
regard to the dilatory manner in which the cele- 
brated old firm of C. met their liabilities, by making 
tardy and — in proportion to the circumstances — 
trifling payments on account. Berger was again 
beginning to take breath for a moment, when sev- 
eral smaller firms by whom Leo’s father suffered 
what, in his present circumstances, were considera- 
ble losses, failed very unexpectedly in quick succes- 
sion. Rudolph who had formerly known Berger’s 
connections with these houses, now saw the impend- 
ing misfortune approaching in terrible proximity, 
and his wife again came to D to, as she ex- 

pressed herself, appeal seriously to Leo’s conscience. 

She began by telling her brother-in-law in his 


292 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


father’s presence, that she was amazed at his delay 
in making her friend Huldah a formal offer. Leo 
instantly rejected the supposition that he had justi- 
fied any one in having such an expectation ; but 
she persisted in the correctness of her view, at first 
gravely, then as Leo still firmly maintained his as- 
sertion, with positive violence. In consequence of 
this, an angry expression had already been uttered 
by her brother-in-law, and she was in the act of 
making an irritating reply when old Berger, who 
knew Ills son well enough to be aware that he was 
not to be influenced in this manner, interposed. 

“ Emma speaks from a desire to aid her friend,” 
said he kindly, “ and therefore you must forgive 
her if she grows somewhat warmer than we are ac- 
customed to see her. I will not presume to decide 
whether right is on her side or yours, Leoj but I 
am as firmly convinced as she that pretty little 
Huldah loves you passionately. And,” he added in 
a hesitating, agitated tone, “ as your father’s repose 
and happiness, nay — what is of infinitely more im- 
portance — his honor, depends upon your speedily 
making an advantageous marriage, you ought not 
to reject the affair so carelessly, my son ; for you 
must surely know we have nothing to hope from 
Rudolph.” 

“ From Rudolph ? What do you mean, papa ? ” 
asked Emma, in a tone sharper than the old man 
had ever heard from her lips. 

“ Why, my daughter,” he answered gravely, 
“ Leo has placed everything he possessed at my dis- 


leg’s sacrifice. 


293 


posal, and did so with more and more readiness the 
more he became convinced of my critical situation ; 
while my eldest son, on the contrary, as soon as he 
obtained the most distant suspicion of my embar- 
rassments, hastened to withdraw all the property 
that he had left in my hands. So you see as I can 
expect no aid from the oldest, I must depend en- 
tirely upon my youngest child.” 

“ I don’t understand,” Emma began, repressing 
her excitement by a violent effort, “ how you can 
make comparisons between such different cases. 
Ever since Rudolph entered my father’s business, he 
has occupied an entirely different relation towards 
you from Leo ; and you, as a clear-sighted merchant, 
must admit, papa, that his duties not only to his 
wife and children, but especially to the firm of 
Ilagendorf, are of such a nature that no others can 
be taken into comparison with them. So you can- 
not blame him or us — ” 

“ I blame him and you for nothing^'' interrupted 
the old merchant bitterly. “ Rudolph has become 
that for which I trained him — a thorough merchant. 
Leo has made himself something quite different : a 
good, warm-hearted man, a faithful son. I do not 
complain of either ; but my support and hope is in 
the latter.” With these words he pressed Leo’s 
hand affectionately, and left the room. 

There were many similar conversations during 
the following days, and although Leo remained 
perfectly indifferent to his sister-in-law’s urgency, 
he was gradually softened by his father’s anxiety 


294 


NOT IN THEIR SET 


and grief. Although an inner voice whispered that 
no person on earth had a right to rob him of his 
last gleam of happiness, the untroubled memoiy of 
his love, he was at last unable to make any farther 
resistance to the entreaties and anguish of the old 
man, who saw in him his only hope. He forcibly 
crushed down the outcries of his own heart, and 
resolved to offer himself to Huldah ! Emma ur- 
gently offered to do so for him ; but he decidedly 
refused. 

Leo wont to Huldah Heuberg to make his offer, 
and liis sister-in-law looked after him, half satisfied, 
half with a feeling bordering on grief. “It is a 
pity,” said she, “ he would have suited a more bril- 
liant wife. If I had known him before Rudolph — 
— pshaw, these are idle thoughts ! His courtship 
will undoubtly be successful. Poor Huldah is des- 
perately in love, and feels very proud of her sup- 
posed conquest. But he would have been in a 
condition to ruin everything at the eleventh hour, 
if I had not cleverly prevented it.” 

Meantime Leo entered Huldah’s residence, and 
was shown into her room. A mass of flowers — 
there may be a superabundance even of them — a 
pile of books, and an innumerable quantity of 
plaster busts and statuettes crowded the tolerably 
large apartment; it almost required sleight of hand 
to reach Huldah’s seat without injuring anything. 
But her suitor succeeded in doing so, and now sat 
beside her, grave and thoughtful as usual, but not 
with his customary composure. She soon noticed it, 


leg’s sacrifice. 


295 


and asked if he wanted anything ? She would not 
have been very much surprised if he had answered 
that he wanted her to complete his happiness — 
Emma had prepared her for something of the kind 
— but he passed his hand over his pale brow, and 
replied very gravely : 

“ Yes, I want many things. I am oppressed with 
many cares and sorrows; a melancholy, heavily 
burdened man, little suited to be the friend and 
companion of a gay, care-free creature like yourself, 
Huldah. And yet I am here to ask you whether you 
would be induced to share my anxieties and sori-ow, 
whether you think you can feel sufficient confidence 
and affection for me, to place your hand gladly and 
willingly in mine.” 

This was not the wooing Huldah had expected : 
there was no word of love or admiration, no tone of 
passion in the voice. She looked at him in disap- 
pointment, and almost in anger, and replied: “I 
have heard that you- -that an early love — ” and then 
paused, for she knew not how to continue. 

“ Ah ! you have learned that ! I should not have 
concealed it from you, even if you had had no sus- 
picion of it ; for you must know that I can only offer 
you a heart weary of bitter, exhausting conflicts, 
but without treachery or dissimulation. If you 
would be satisfied with the love I can bestow, I 
would strive with all my power to conquer the 
memory of the Past, and endeavor by the ardent 
loyalty and deep gratitude of a man who knows 


296 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


how to prize your generosity, to made you happy, 
as happy as you deserve to be.” 

A girl whose head was less filled with romantic 
ideas than Huldah’s, might perhaps have inquired 
into the cause of this singular wooing, but the ap- 
peal to her generosity aroused her pride as well as 
her better feelings, and vanity whispered that she 
could succeed in consoling her future bridegroom 
for the loss of his early love more quickly and 
easily than the latter now seemed to hope. So she 
held out her hand to him and said : “ It grieves me 
that you cannot love me as — as betrothed couples 
ought to love, but it will make me happy if I am 
permitted to console you in your sorrow, and cheer 
your future life.” 

He was touched by these words, which seemed to 
reveal a treasure of generosity and self-denial, and 
pressing her extended hand to his lips, said more 
warmly than before: “This is really noble and 
generous ; but I dare not take the hand you have 
so tenderly offered, or call it mine, until you know 
all.” 

“ All ? ” asked Huldah in great astonishment. 

“ Yes ; you perhaps think me rich, Huldah ; but 
it is not so. You have doubtless often heard how 
uncertain a merchant’s wealth generally is, and my 
father’s business has not remained untouched by 
such fluctuations. He has suffered losses of late — 
I most earnestly entreat you to consider this a 
secret confided to you alone — by which his prop- 
erty has been considerably diminished.” 


LEO’S SACRIFICE. 


297 


Emma had expected her brother-in-law to make 
some such c nfession, and therefore wisely took 
precautions against it by finding a suitable oppor- 
tunity to tell her friend Huldah of the somewhat 
exaggerated demands Leo would make upon his 
future wife, and that it was his special hobby to be 
loved for his own sake, as he called it. “ He had,” 
she laughingly asserted, “ a childish dread that his 
future wife might marry him without really loving 
him, because he was the son of the rich merchant 
Berger.” This supposed freak now recurred to 
Huldah’s memory, and thus she placed no particu- 
lar importance on the confession made with so 
much difficulty by Leo; but said with a merry 
smile : “ Have I asked how rich or poor you are ? 
I do not give my hand to your father’s son, although 
I sincerely love the good old man, but to Leo Ber- 
ger,” and she added talking herself into a tender 
mood, of which she was very fond, “ and in so doing, 
I seek your happiness far more than my own.” 

Leo, entirely ignorant of Huldah’s secret fancies, 
was touched to his inmost soul by her unselfish 
affection, and in this manner was accomplished the 
betrothal whose unexpected announcement shocked 
Margarethe so deeply that, fearing her own 
thoughts, she fled from her quiet home life to a gay 
watering place. 


298 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

STEINTHAL DISCOVERS HELENB’s CHILD. 

Count Guntersburg was now Countess Steinthal’s 
declared lover, and whoever was in at the time, 
and ventured to consider themselves even distantly 
connected with Countess Therese’s aristocratic 
circle of acquaintances, offered their congratula- 
tions in the most approved form. The beautiful 
betrothed received them with the cold civility 
which she was accustomed to bestow, under all 
circumstances. Her lover, now that he had attained 
his wish and no uncertainty longer created for him 
an excitement of any kind, again relapsed into his 
usual indolence, and her mother — much as such a 
brilliant match gratified her pride — did not consider 
it fitting to represent the event to strangers as one 
in any degree unusually pleasing or elevating to 
her family and her daughter. Thus the young girPs 
father was the only person who betrayed any emo- 
tion at his daughter's betrothal ; but his joy over 
his child’s brilliant destiny was not unclouded. He 
loved Louise too ardently not to be an attentive 
and correct observer of her relations towards 


STEINTHAL DISCOVERS HELENe’s CHILD. 299 

Count Guntersburg, and he clearly perceived that 
although the Count’s feeling for his betrothed was 
far warmer than hers for him, and it would not be 
difficult for Louise to awaken a sincere affection, 
neither she nor her future husband were animated 
by the love and esteem which are the surest foun- 
dations of a happy marriage. 

But deeply as he feared for his daughter’s future 
happiness, his interest in her was divided ; other cares 
claimed his mind, burdened with the newly awak- 
ened memory of a guilty Past and its bitter fruit, 
ever gnawing, unavailing remorse. Margarethe’s 
face, her striking, terrible resemblance to the beau- 
tiful victim of his passion and weakness, no longer 
allowed liim to obtain any repose. He was deter- 
mined to discover whether the young girl was his 
daughter, whether she was protected from want, in 
Avhat circumstances and among what surroundings 
she lived, and whether she was happy, and well 
cared for, or needed his aid and protection. 

He first sought for her name in the list of stran- 
gers. Her old companion was registered as F raulein 
Heber, she herself as Fraulein Greven. Both names 
were Avholly unfamiliar to him ; he did not remem- 
ber ever having heard them in Helene’s home. And 
from Bergefort ? Was it a small town, a village, 
or a country house ? There was no such place in 
any neighborhood known to him. Meantime he met 
the young lady very frequently, for Ph-aulein Heber, 
like other visitors at the watering place, took her 
regular walks, always accompanied by Margarethe, 


300 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


and the more frequently he saw her, the more firmly 
rooted became his conviction that she was Helene’s 
daughter. Her resemblance to the dead girl was 
even more remarkable than the striking likeness by 
which Louise so painfully kept alive the memory of 
the lost one. In the Countess, the resemblance was 
only in form ; but the young stranger possessed the 
expression also. Charming and intellectual as were 
the features of tlie young Countess, their lack of 
warmth and tenderness deprived them of the win- 
ning expression we call soul-speaking, and which 
Margarethe’s beautiful face possessed in an unusual 
degree. This attractive expression had also distin- 
guished her mother, and enchained the Count even 
more than her rare beauty. 

The restlessness and anxiety in her husband’s 
manner, did not escape Countess Steinthal, and she 
was not long in connecting it with the stranger’s 
appearance. Although she had never really loved 
the Count, jealousy, as we have already mentioned, 
was not foreign to her character, and the feeling 
was especially directed towards all who had any 
connection with Steinthal’s Past ; therefore, she now 
carefully watched every step, and the tie which 
bound him to the unsuspecting Margarethe, soon 
became as clear to her as to him. He too perceived 
that it would be impossible for him to enter into 
any communication with the young girl, without 
his wife’s knowledge, and his weak love for peace, 
his morbid horror of quarrels and scenes of every 
kind, were so great that the knowledge almost 


STEINTHAL DISCOVERS HELENE’s CHILD. 301 

drove him to despair. But the cry of liis wounded 
conscience, which now had a powerful ally in his 
newly roused fatherly affection, would not be 
silenced ; and he therefore resolved to confide in 
his future son-in-law, on whose honor he could 
rely, and who, as a man of the world, would judge 
the Count’s error leniently. Count Guntersburg, 
who was not wanting in feeling and humanity, 
though both were very much concealed by the 
dross of a dissolute worldly life, and who always 
felt happy when in pursuit of any definite object, 
entered warmly into the wishes of his future father- 
in-law, and consented to be his ambassador to Mar- 
garet!) e. 

Margarethe soon noticed how much the attention 
of Count Steinthal, wnose name and family con- 
nections had been communicated to her by some 
chance acquaintance made at the little watering 
place, Avas directed towards herself. The matter 
was disagreeable, especially as the scornful hostile 
glance Avith Avhich Countess Steinthal measured her 
from head to foot at every accidental meeting, al- 
most converted her husband’s respectful salutation 
into an insult. The young girl at last mentioned it 
to Fraulein Heber, and the latter now informed her 
of Avhat she had noticed on their first meeting with 
the Count’s party, and confessed the suppositions 
she involuntarily formed. 

Margarethe was listening with some little agita- 
tion, when the servant entered and handed her a 


302 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


card. She glanced at it carelessly, then changed 
color and asked : Is the gentleman waiting ? ” 

“ Yes,” replied the girl, “he says if you can’t re- 
ceive him now, he begs you to name some later 
hour.” 

Margarethe sat a few moments absorbed in silent 
meditation; but she could form no decision, and 
handing the card to Fraulein Heber, asked : “ Shall 
I receive or decline this visit.” 

“Receive it, my child. Why should you not 
hear what the gentleman has to say ? ” 

In pursuance of this resolution. Count Gunters- 
burg was ushered into Margarethe’s presence. He 
had undertaken the mission without a sufficiently 
clear appreciation of its difficulties and delicacy. 
It would have been strange if it had seemed possi- 
ble for him to meet with any obstacle ; how should 
he. Count von Guntersburg, be betrayed into em- 
barrassments in an interview with a mere roturiere f 
And yet this actually happened, when after the 
customary greetings, he sat before her and saw 
her clear eyes fixed upon him with an expres- 
sion of inquiry. He felt that it was his place to 
speak, and therefore began the conversation, but 
whether what he said was specially distinguished 
by tact and wisdom, he could never fairly decide. 

“ You are surprised to see me here, Fraulein,” he 
began, “ and I should not have presumed to intro- 
duce myself to you, did I not come in the charac- 
ter of an ambassador from Count von Steinthal.” 

“ Of course I had no suspicion of the cause 


STEINTHAL DISCOVERS HELENE’s CHILD. 303 

which procured me the honor of your visit, 
Herr Count,” replied Margarethe with apparent 
composure, though really greatly agitated, “ and 
now that you have told me you made the exertion 
in order to oblige Count Steinthal, I am equally 
unable to guess what, by any possibility, he can 
have to communicate.” 

“I am not entrusted with any communication, 
Fraulein, but a question.” 

“ A question ? ” 

“ Yes, Fraulein, and indeed, I ought to inquire 
whether you have never been known by any other 
name than the one you now bear ? ” 

“Herr Count,” exclaimed Margarethe, and the 
vivid blush that crimsoned her cheek, followed by 
an equally unusual pallor, clearly showed how 
deeply she considered herself insulted, 

“ I beg your pardon, Fraulein,” said the Count 
somewhat alarmed, “ I did not intend to offend 
you, I came solely with the desire to render my 
honored friend Count Steinthal, and perhaps you 
also — a service.” 

“ To me, Herr Count ? ” asked Margarethe, who 
had entirely regained her composure. “ I do not 
misunderstand the kindness of your intentions, but 
permit me to assure you that I desire no services 
from any one, nor do I need those of strangers.” 

The Count’s embarrassment increased ; but he 
collected his thoughts, and after a momentary 
pause continued: “I believe you, Fraulein ; but I 
entreat you to consider my earnest desire to be of 


304 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


use to Count Steinthal in a matter which lies very 
near his heart. And as I suppose this respected 
lady — he made a slight bow towards Fraulein 
Heber — is nearly related to you — ” 

“ My friend is as thoroughly informed of every- 
thing concerning me as I am myself,” replied Mar- 
garethe. 

During this digression the Count had lost the 
thread of the conversation ; he hesitated a moment, 
and then said, apparently without any connection : 
“ You bear a striking resemblance to my fiancee^ 
Countess Steinthal, Fraulein.” As he seemed to 
expect an answer to this remark, Fraulein Ileber 
observed that she had also noticed the likeness. 

“ It is true,” continued the Count, “ and as Coun- 
tess Louise strongly resembles a lady with whom 
her father. Count Steinthal, was very well ac- 
quainted in his youth, and greatly admired — ” he 
hesitated ; how was he to finish the sentence with- 
out ofiending Margarethe, which he had certainly 
no desire to do, for he had been very agreeably im- 
pressed by the quiet dignity of her bearing. Frau- 
lein Heber came to his assistance. “And so you 
desire to learn whether Fraulein GreVen is related 
to that lady, Herr Count ? ” she asked. 

“ The aifair stands as you say, dear madam, pre- 
cisely as you say, and I should be very glad if you 
could give me any information concerning it.” 

“We cannot do so until you have the kindness 
to tell is the lady’s name, Herr Count.” 


STEINTIIAL DISCOVERS HELEN e’s CHILD. 305 

“ Oil ! — very true — her name was Lorsberg, 
Frauleiii Helene Lorsberg.” 

“ Oh ! God ! ” faltered Margarethe, in a low 
tone. She had turned deadly pale, and trembled 
violently ; but it was only for a moment, then sho 
legained her self-control, and asked the Count with 
pallid lips, but in a perfectly calm voice : “ And for 
what purpose does Count von Steinthal wish to 
ascertain whether there is any relation between 
Fraulein Lorsberg and myself? ” 

The Count had lived too long in a world where 
people learn to understand half uttered words and 
fleeting glances, to overlook or misinterpret Mar- 
garethe’s suppressed emotion ; but he was so 
charmed by the quiet composure she maintained in 
so painful a situation, that he replied with more 
warmth and sympathy than any lady of his own 
rank had ever won from him : “ My highly esteemed 
friend. Count Steinthal, has bestowed his entire 
confidence upon me, and thus I have learned that 
for many years he has desired nothing so eagerly 
and painfully as — as — to discover the daughter of 
the charming lady, who was so dear to him.” 

Margarethe could not speak, she cast an implor- 
ing glance at Fraulein Heber which the latter in- 
terpreted, as Margarethe wished, to be a request 
that she would address to the Count the questions 
her own lips could not utter. The elder lady, 
though greatly agitated, therefore gently inter- 
posed : “ And are we to understand that Count 
Steinthal is the father— of this orphaned child?” 


306 


NOT IN THEIR BET. 


“ Certainly, my dear madam, and that he hopes 
his daughter will believe the assurance he gives 
her through me, the assurance that he has never 
ceased to love her mother, or long for his child.” 

“ Oh ! my mother, my unhappy mother,” mur- 
mured Margarethe. In spite of her struggles, her 
tears burst forth in a hot, stormy, passionate .flood. 
There was a conflict raging in her heart, more ago- 
nizing than all the sorrows she had ever felt before. 
From her uncle’s story she had learned to love and 
grieve for her mother, and for her sake had hitherto 
cherished towards her unknown father a feeling 
nearly allied to hatred ; and yet the first words 
that came to her from tins unknown father spoke 
of unforgotten love, unconquerable remorse. She 
felt these tardy advances as an insult to her dead 
mother; and yet a gentle voice pleaded for the 
father who had sent a messenger to speak of his 
agonizing longing for the child of his early love. 

The Count and Fraulein Heber respected her only 
too natural grief, by maintaining an unbroken 
silence; but she did not try their patience long. 
With her usual self control, she conquered her ex- 
cited feelings, and said with a tolerable degree of 
composure : “ I must beg your pardon, Herr Count, 
for making you a witness of my emotion : but 
everything you tell me is so new, so surprising, 
that I can scarcely give an account of my feelings, 
even to myself; still less understand the reason 
why the — the Count von Steinthal sends me this 
startling communication.” 


STEINTHAL DISCOVERS HELENe’s CHILD. 307 

see I have caused you more sorrow than I ex- 
pected, Fraulein,” said the Count in a tone of re- 
spectful sympathy. “ If I had forseen this, I should 
have been far less ready to undertake the commis- 
sion ; but I did so, as I must once more repeat, 
solely from the desire to render a man whom I es- 
teem as highly as Count Steinthal, a favor he could 
ask from no one else. This must be my apology 
for intruding into an affair which, as I see with 
regret, is so painful to you. As regards the Count’s 
motive in sending me to you, it was his wish first 
to learn whether you were really the child of the 
cherished love of his youth, whom you so closely 
resemble, that even the unfamiliar name you bore 
could not wholly crush the hope ; and then he de- 
sires nothing so ardentlv as to ascertain through me 
whether your present circumstances are agreeable 
to you, or whether — whether it would be permitted 
him by — his protection or his — his assistance, to 
contribute in any way to your happiness.” 

The Count found it very difficult to make this 
offer, as he noticed Margarethe’s flashing eyes, and 
the sudden hauteur apparent in her manner, al- 
though the young girl’s simple dress and surround- 
ings did not indicate great wealth. She rose before 
he finished speaking, with a gesture which strongly 
reminded him of his haughty betrothed, and replied 
in a measured tone : “ I thank you, Herr Count ; — 
you mean well — but say to Count von Steinthal 
that 1 do not understand how he, the husband of 
Countess Therese, the father of her aristocratic 


808 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


children, can offer Helene Lorsberg’s daughter a 
protection which would subject her to far greater 
humiliations than her present isolation. As for the 
assistance he so generously offers me — since the 
child under age could, and was compelled to dis- 
pense with it — she certainly will not claim it now ; 
nor does Helene Lorsberg’s daughter need the 
wealth for which her mother was sacrificed. The 
child of the deserted girl, who, it is true, spent her 
early years in a day laborer’s hut, now controls a 
fortune which might even serve to uphold the coro- 
net of a ruined Count.” 

“ Ah ! Fraulein,” said the Count, “ I almost 
feared the offer would anger you ; but I promised 
the Count to make it, and thought myself bound 
to do so.” 

Margarethe already regretted that she had al- 
lowed her pride to carry her so far, and therefore 
replied in her usual gentle manner: “I beg you to 
pardon me, Herr Count, and do me the favor to 
communicate to Count Steinthal in a more fitting 
manner wliat I have told you — I confess with shame 
— with unseemly violence ; that my perfectly inde- 
pendent situation renders all assistance unnecessary, 
and I fear any advances from the Count would 
rather endanger than strengthen the quiet peace, 
which forms the sole happiness of my life.” 

“ Oh ! my dear young lady,” pleaded the Count, 
“ do not refuse so decidedly, the request I ventured 
to make in the name of your — your father. It is 
not his intention to approach you here, where it 


STEINTHAL DISCOVERS HELENe’s CHILD. 309 

might cause an unpleasant scene ; but it would 
make him very happy if you would allow him to 
visit you at your residence.” 

“If Count von Steinthal,” replied Margarethe, 
“ were an unfortunate man, poor, lonely, and need- 
ing the care of some faithful hand, I should con- 
sider it my duty to risk everything to relieve his 
misfortunes and afford him consolation, deeply as 
my unhappy mother and myself have suffered 
through his fault. But he is rich, distinguished, 
the husband of a haughty lady who is his equal in 
birth, the head of a blooming family ; it is impos- 
sible for him to need me, and therefore I do not 
think it inconsistent with my duty to most earnestly 
entreat him not to endanger the modest content- 
ment of my life, by any interference, from which, I 
fear, no benefit would result to him or me.” 

Margarethe firmly maintained this resolution, 
and Count Guntersburg at last found himself com- 
pelled to acquaint her father with it. “ So she is 
my child, my dear Helene’s daughter ? ” he asked. 
“ Ah ! I was sure of it from the first moment I saw 
her. And she will not see me ? She has no com- 
passion, no feeling for her father ? Oh ! her mother 
would have been incapable of such cruelty.” 

“Consider,” said Guntersburg, “that in her 
opinion, you have done that mother a heavy wrong, 
that she has never received any aid or sympathy 
from you until now, while both have been so 
abundantly supplied from another source that she 
can reject yours. Count Steinthal, with just pride ; 


310 


NOT TN THEIB SET. 


for although she asserts that her eany years were 
spent in a day-laborer’s hut, she must have been 
carefully trained since. It is not alone that she de- 
clared herself the owner of a large fortune, but she 
possesses culture which reveals the most careful 
training.” 

“ All her mother’s relatives whom I knew, were 
unusually cultivated, and most of them distin- 
guished by rare mental endowments. But you 
have not told me. Count, where she resides, how 
and with whom she lives, and whether she is hap- 
pily situated, apart from the advantages of wealth.” 

“ She did not give me the slightest information in 
regard to all this ; and she has a manner of repel- 
ling undesired questions, which would do honor to 
a trained woman of the world. I must confess she 
is superb. Although she seems so fondly attached 
to her mother, and rejects your advances, dear 
Count, it is very evident that the Steinthal blood 
flows in her veins.” 

“You are mistaken, my dear friend. As you 
speak of her you describe Helene ; Helene Lors- 
berg, when she lived and loved me. But you have 
done so much for me, and in such a friendly manner, 
that I could almost find courage to ask still more.” 

“ What is it, dear Count. Have no hesitation in 
calling upon me.” 

“ Go to her once more. Implore her to give me 
some more definite information about her past and 
present life. Tell her I will yield to her wishes, 


STEINTHAL DISCO VEES HELENe’s CHILD. 311 

difficult as it is for me ; but I cannot rest unless I 
Lave some farther particulars concerning her.” 

Count Guntersburg did not set out on his visit to 
Margarethe with as much readiness as on the first 
occasion. 

The latter received him reluctantly, and only in 
compliance with his urgent entreaty, gave him a 
tolerably ample outline of her past and present 
circumstances, and then earnestly implored him to 
induce Count Steiiithal to leave her to herself as 
entirely as before. 


312 


NOT m THEIK SET. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

A STEANGE MEETING. 

Count Guntersburg’s two short visits to Margar- 
ethe had produced a singular result. The great re- 
semblance between her and Countess Louise led 
him unconsciously to make comparisons between 
the two half-sisters, and these were not always in 
favor of the latter.'' He found pride and self-respect 
might be expressed without the bitter mingling of 
arrogance, and that she would be still more charming 
without this quality. He also discovered that a 
young lady might show affection and sympathy for 
those around her, without sinking to the level of 
common-place, and that the most beautiful face be- 
comes still more lovely by the frank expression of 
the feeling of a pure, noble heart. And when he 
made these half-unconscious observations, and in- 
voluntarily drew conclusions from them, a feeling 
wholly unlike anything he had previously ex- 
perienced, overmastered him, and wishes entirely 
different from any he had hitherto cherished stole 
over him, till he reproached himself for being a 
childish dreamer, who ought to be ashamed of him- 


A STRANGE MEETING. 


313 


self. But it did not avail ; the thought, the dreams, 
returned, and conquered him so frequently and 
noticeably that it even attracted the attention of 
Louise. She generally had no eye for the changes 
in her lover’s moods : she had no alfection for him, 
and desired none; she merely wished to pass 
through life at his side as usage and custom re- 
quired. How could it arouse her interest whether 
he was light-hearted or thoughtful, grave or gay ? 
She knew the Count sufficiently to be compelled to 
observe the strange alteration in his manner, but 
she did not feel the slightest anxiety about it, or 
take the trouble to ascertain the cause. When in 
his society she was as quiet, formal, and cold as 
ever, until the reason of the change that had taken 
place in her lover suddenly flashed upon her. Then 
she grew anxious, but outwardly only became colder 
and more reserved, and the gulf between her and 
her future husband seemed to widen more and 
more. 

Louise was driving with her mother along the 
bank of the pretty river which flows through the 

valley of . Count Guntersburg rode beside 

the carriage, occasionally exchanging some common- 
place remark with her, carelessly uttered and neg- 
ligently answered. At a sharp turn in the road, 
which made it necessary to drive more slowly, they 
met two ladies in another open carriage. The 
Count bowed very respectfully, and they courte- 
ously responded to his greeting. Louise instantly 
recognized the beautiful stranger on the bridge, 


314 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


whom slie had since frequently met in her walks. 
This girl was a painful enigma to her. Her father’s 
alarm when she first appeared, had not escaped her 
attention, neither had she forgotten that Count 
Guntersburg thought she bore a strong resemblance 
to herself ; but although she placed no special im- 
portance upon the matter, she always felt painfully 
agitated whenever, on an accidental meeting with 
the stranger, she saw the respectful interest wuth 
which her father saluted her, while the young girl 
seemed rather to shun than seek the greeting. But 
her mother’s conduct was even more unpleasant ; 
the latter did not ignore her husband’s courteous 
attention to the young lady, but took very insult- 
ing cognizance of it, a proceeding which Louise, 
who with all her want of consideration, was never 
positively unwomanly, highly disapproved. 

She intentionally overlooked the recognition be- 
tween her lover and the stranger, although unpleas- 
antly afiTected by it. She supposed the Count’s 
attention had been called to her by her father, and 
felt much too secure in her own lofty sphere to think 
of any serious rivalry with one apparently so far 
beneath her. But Countess Steinthal’s passions 
were far less regulated by self-consciousness and 
self-respect than her daughter’s. Her pride did not 
express itself by placing a high estimate upon her- 
self, but by seeking to degrade others. Besides, 
the idea of her husband’s secret Past, of which she 
knew just enough to feel uneasy, was the point on 


A STEANGE MEETING. 


315 


which she was especially irritable ; if it was unex- 
pectedly touched she instantly lost all self-control. 

“ This young person seems to be one of your pai^ 
ticular friends, Count,” she remarked carelessly, but 
her eyes were fixed searchingly upon Guntersburg’s 
face. 

“Your supposition is quite correct, Countess, 
I have the happiness of knowdng this charming 
lady.” 

“ That is strange ; she does not belong to our 
circle.” 

“ Certainly not ; but she would be considered the 
brightest ornament of any society.” 

“You rely very strongly on the forbearance of 
your betrothed. Count,” said the Countess, who 
was becoming still more irritated, with an acrid 
smile. 

“How so, Countess? Countess Steinthal is far 
too sensible — especially in her feelings towards me 
— to believe or wish that our betrothal should have 
made me blind to the charms of every other lady.” 

Louise was very much irritated by her mother’s 
want of consideration in carrying on such a conver- 
sation with the count in her presence ; and therefore 
the words she now uttered, with a careless smile, 
were addressed quite as much to the Countess as to 
Guntersburg : “I can be all the more at ease on this 
point, mamma, as the stranger’s Avhole charm lies 
ill her resemblance to me ; it is merely by that she 
has attracted the Count and papa.” 

The Countess was silent, almost alarmed by this 


316 


NOT IN THEIS SET. 


open, apparently artless expression of a fact which 
so deeply irritated her ; but the Count quietly re- 
plied : “Your judgment is correct, Countess 
Louise; I was originally attracted towards the 
beautiful stranger by her resemblance to you. But 
after I had the pleasure of being permitted to con- 
verse with her several times, I paid her the just 
due of a w^arm personal admiration.” 

“ And may we ask,” said the Countess somewhat 
jeeringly, “who had the honor of introducing 
Count Guntersburg to this unknown person ? ” 

“ He did so himself. Countess, but certainly not 
without being provided with satisfactory refer- 
ences.” { 

Louise saw that her mother’s irritation was con- 
stantly increasing; and although in spite of her 
coldness, the Count’s want of consideration in ex- 
pressing his admiration for another in her presence 
secretly offended her, she was determined to avoid a 
scene. She therefore carelessly observed ; “ I have 
often heard that there are girls and women of in- 
tellect and culture in the lower circles which are 
closed to ladies of our position. It must really be 
very sad for them ; for their talents will find little 
sympathy among their equals, and therefore it may 
well seem an especially fortunate event wdien a gen- 
tleman from our circles occasionally strays into 
their sphere.” J 

“ Not always,” replied the Count with a peculiar 
smile. “ Besides culture is not so rare among the 
majority of the men in those circles, as you seem to 


A STRANGE MEETING. 


317 


suppose. I admit that they are generally wanting 
in the more refined forms of society ; but in knowl- 
edge, in information of various kinds, they are 
usually our superiors.” 

“ Knowledge, however, is not synonymous with 
culture,” said Louise, leaning back in the carriage 
with an air of arrogant superiority. “ For instance, 
who has such a fund of knowledge and such a re- 
markable want of good breeding as my brother’s 
tutor ! ” 

“ I agree with you there ; but such exceptions do 
not disprove the rule. As soon as knowledge passes 
beyond mere closet scholarship, it exerts a favorable 
influence externally; and we rarely find offenses 
against good manners united to real intellectual 
culture.” 

Such opinions from the Count excited the greatest 
surprise in Louise’s mind. At that time, the differ- 
ent classes of society were far more widely sepa- 
rated from each other in respect to social inter- 
course than is the case at the present day. Al- 
though the traditional respect for high rank had 
greatly declined among the cnltivated middle 
classes, and they were doubtless conscious of the 
importance of their own power, resting on industry 
and knowledge, the majority of the members of 
the so called aristocratic circles still sought to blind 
themselves to these facts, and organize a still 
stronger resistance to everything which they con- 
sidered assaults upon time-honored, hallowed cus- 
toms and usages. Thus, in consequence of her 


318 


NOT IN THEIB SET. 


birth and education, Louise could not fail to judge 
with the most perfect ignorance of the true state 
of affairs in this case, and moreover, supposed 
Count Guntersburg was induced to adopt opinions 
so completely opposite to her own, either from mere 
caprice, or because he was for the moment allured 
by the charms of a girl belonging to one of the 
classes the Countess considered so infinitely inferior 
True, she did not fear for an instant that her claims 
upon him as her future husband might thereby 
suffer njury; yet her pride rebelled against the 
thought that it could enter his mind to make com- 
parisons between her and this roturiere^ and that 
the scales might turn in favor of such a person. 
But she would rather have died than betray any 
apprehensions of this sort, so she held the veil of 
cold pride and careless indifference firmly before 
her lover, though both were gradually becoming 
mere pretence. She had involuntarily begun to 
watch the Count, to notice the expression of his 
thoughts, feelings, and opinions, to guess the cause 
of his moods, and a person about whom we occupy 
ourselves in this manner can no longer remain in- 
diflerent to us. However inaccessible we may ap- 
pear, we are secretly affected by his opinions and 
disturbed by his moods. 

Thus life at the watering place dragged on un- 
comfortably to the Steinthal party, and all the 
members of the little circle realiy felt relieved when 
it drew towards a close. But before this period an 


A STRANGE MEETING. 


319 


event occurred which exerted an important influ- 
ence upon the young Countess’ future. 

Louise, accompanied by her father. Count Gun- 
tersburg, and several casual acquaintances, had 
ridden out to a forester’s house, which on account 

of its distance from — , was visited only by the 

most enterprising guests at the watering place. 
They intended to take some refreshments in the 
little garden, and then return liome by a pleasant 
mountain path, but an unexpected shower of rain 
compelled the party to enter the house and order 
their lunch to be brought into the little coffee-room. 
This was already occupied by two ladies, who 
judging from the books, writing materials, and 
needle work by which they were surrounded, seemed 
to have settled down permanently here. Such was 
the case. To avoid the unpleasant meetings with 
the Steinthal family, and yet enable her old friend 
to enjoy the strengthening mountain breezes a few 
weeks longer, Margarethe had gone out to this 
rarely disturbed woodland solitude ; but her fate 
seemed to pursue her, and even here she met the 
very persons whom, of all the world, she was most 
anxious to avoid. 

None of the party took any notice of her except 
Count Steinthal and Count Guntersburg, who as 
usual, bowed with marked courtesy. The ladies 
returned the salute, and then resumed their former 
occupation ; Fraulein Heber was knitting, Margar- 
ethe drawing. But it was impossible for the latter 
to steady her hand sufficiently to guide the pencil ; 


320 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


in spite of her efforts not to notice it, she felt that 
she was attracting the attention of all the company, 
and with this painful sensation could not continue 
her work. She therefore said a few words to 
Fraulein Heber in an undertone, closed her port- 
folio, took up a book, and left the room with her 
companion. After her departure a few indifferent 
and apparently unconstrained remarks were ex- 
changed between those left behind, about her 
beauty and striking resemblance to Countess Stein- 
thal, and then they passed on to other topics. 
Louise joined in the conversation for a time with 
her usual cold, indifferent manner ; but it cost her 
a great effort. She was. secretly irritated by the 
meeting, accidental as it was; but still more by 
the respect her father and lover displayed towards 
this double who was so repulsive to her. Therefore 
she seized upon the first plausible pretext for leav- 
ing the room, and in spite of her clinging riding 
habit, walked down the wet, narrow garden path. 
Her father and Count Guntersburg . exchanged a 
quick, anxious glance ; but both feared to make 
her absence still more remarkable by joining her at 
once, and therefore a considerable time elapsed be- 
fore Count Guntersburg followed her. 

Meantime Louise, out of humor, irritated, nay, 
almost quarrelsome, walked up and down under 
the dripping cherry trees in the little garden. She 
had selected that portion of the grounds which was 
not overlooked by the windows of the coffee-room ; 
for in spite of her anger, she had sufficient power 


A STRANGE MEETING. 


321 


of reflection not to wish to afford a spectacle for the 
party within. The same reason also influenced 
Maigarethe, when she made her retreat, and she 
chose for her temporary asylum an arbor covered 
with luxuriant roses, and protected by a wooden 
roof, so far from the house and so concealed behind 
the cherry trees, that she thought she should be 
safe. But her expectation soon proved vain ; she 
had scarcely regained her calmness after the inci- 
dent which had put her to flight, when the Countess 
appeared before her terrified gaze, walking rapidly 
up and down the path with glowing cheeks and 
flashing eyes. “ Oh ! Fraulein Heber,” whispered 
Margarethe, “ there is the Countess — Countess 
Steinthal. I hope she won’t come in here.” 

“ Oh ! no my child ; she is merely walking,” 
said the old lady soothingly. But she had scarcely 
uttered the words, when a fresh gust of wind shook 
the wet foliage of the cherry trees, and such a 
heavy shower of rain-drops poured from the leaves 
that Louise involuntarily looked around for some 
sheltering roof, and took refuge in the arbor, which 
she supposed to be vacant. 

At her entrance Margarethe involuntarily rose to 
go out into the open air. If she had quietly re- 
tained her seat, Louise would have been no better 
pleased; she was just in the mood to take every- 
thing as an insult, and feel the necessity of express- 
ing her indignation to some one; so she asked 
angrily : “ Why do you shun me. Mademoiselle ? ” 

Margarethe’s heart almost stopped beating at the 


322 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


tone of this question ; but the unmerited insult 
roused her to a spirited self-defence, and looking at 
the Countess with a firm, steady gaze, she answered : 
“ Because, whenever I have the misfortune to meet 
you, I always read hatred and ill-will in your eyes.” 

The Countess was surprised, and could not help 
acknowledging her rival’s presence of mind. But 
this only vexed her the more, and she asked as 
sharply as before. “ Hatred and ill-will ! Is it 
possible that you expected kindness and affection ? ” 
“ Ho, Countess, that was impossible ; for I was 
as ignorant of your existence as you probably Avere 
of mine, until you forced yourself upon me.” 

“ Forced ? Are you aware that you make use 
of very singular, insulting expressions ? ” 

“I merely answered your questions truthfully, 
and — I did not seek this conversation.” 

“ Oh ! this is too much ! Do you suppose I 
would ever have wasted a word upon j^ou, if chance 
had not so rudely brought us together ? ” 

Margarethe could not long maintain the mood of 
angry pride, so foreign to her nature. Besides, 
Louise’s resemblance to her dead mother, of which 
Count Guntersburg had spoken, and the conclusion 
he had drawn from it, had awakened an eager in- 
terest in the Countess. When she now saw her 
hostile half-sister so near her, violent, angry, full 
of hate, and yet so beautiful, beautiful Avith her 
mother’s features, as a little crayon picture she had 
inherited from her uncle still represented them, her 


A STRANGE MEETING. 


323 


heart melted and she said gently, with tearful 
eyes : “ I am only too sure you Avould not.” 

Louise was astonished. If, in spite of herself, she 
had been compelled to recognize a proper self- 
respect in the haughty anger with which Margar- 
ethe had previously answered, there was something 
in the sorrowful gentleness of these words which 
moved her against her will. “ Ah ! ” said she with 
a deep sigh, gazing inquiringly into the earnest 
face, which now, in its expression of unaffected 
sweetness, seemed far more beautiful than before, 
“ but if you neither expected nor desired anything 
from us, why did you seek our vicinity ? ” 

“You are mistaken. Countess; I never did so. 
I knew that there was a Count Steinthal, that his 
wife was a Baroness von Metelen, that he was the 
father of her children. I also knew that in conse- 
quence of these ties he ceased to have any existence 
to me and mine, and I thanked God every day of 
my life that he was nothing to me. Thus utterly 
indifferent to him and his family, without any defi- 
nite knowledge of his residence, his mode of life, 
or his present abode, I came with my old friend for 
the benefit of the springs. Here I became the ob- 
ject of attention from Count Steinthal and the 
members of his family, an attention very painful to 
me. To escape it I left — and it is not my fault 
that it has followed me here.” 

‘Ht was not intentional; it was chance, mere 
chance,” protested Louise. “ You have convinced 
me that it was also an accident which produced 


324 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


your meeting with us, and I therefore beg you to 
forget anything in ray remarks that may have 
wounded your feelings.” 

“ I shall remember nothing, Countess Steinthal, 
except your peerless beauty and loveliness, which — 
attractive as they may be — can never make you so 
truly, inexpressibly dear to any creature on earth 
as to me.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” asked Louise in sus- 
pense, which almost made the words seem like re- 
proof. 

“ Oh ! Countess, when I see you I think of one 
now dead, whom I fondly love, and in spite of one 
unhappy error, most highly honor ; and of a man 
who, as I noAv, to my great comfort, am permitted 
to believe, yielded to the force of circumstances 
with remorse and anguish.” 

“ Do you speak of my father ? ” asked Louise in 
a low tone, blushing deeply. 

“ Of Count Steinthal. I sent him a cold reply to 
a kind message communicated through Count von 
Guntersburg ; and if it were not too presuming, to 
ask you — ” 

But Louise did not hear the last words, and in- 
terrupted her with the question : “ So that is the 
way Count Guntersburg made your acquaintance. 
Did my father send him to you ? ” 

“ Yes ; Count Steinthal suspected that I was his 
daughter, from my resemblance to my dead mother, 
and as he knew nothing of my situation or circurr- 
stances, cherished the kindly wish to give me his 


A STRANGE MEETING. 


325 


protection and assistance, should I stand in need of 
either.” 

“ Oh ! that is right, my father did right. And 
— has he made a sufficient provision for you? Are 
you satisfied with what he will do ? ” 

Margarethe smiled. “Excuse me. Countess; 
Count von Steinthal is to do nothing — as has always 
been the case — but — ” 

“ Oh ! ” interrupted Louise, speaking eagerly and 
very rapidly. “ You mean you refused it, because 
— because — you think, you fear — it may place my 
father in a disagreeable position, because my 
mother — let it pass. But let me undertake the 
charge of your happiness — I am about to accept a 
destiny, wdiich at least secures me the advantages 
of great wealth — and I should be reconciled to my 
lot if I were permitted to lighten my father’s sorrow 
and guilt. Oh ! — do not turn away — do not take 
offense at this — if you will allow me to care for your 
future, you will be rendering me a favor ; and be- 
sides I have a right to do so, for — we are sisters.” 

“ Oh ! God,” stammered Margarethe, deeply 
moved, “ Countess Louise— dearest Countess — may 
God repay you with the richest blessings, the 
greatest happiness, for the w^ord you have spoken. 
I will make no claims, found no wishes upon it ; 
but I will never, never forget it to the last hour of 
my life ; and if ever the warmest love and deepest 
gratitude were united in any human breast, they 
live in my heart for you.” 

Never before had Louise heard the language of 


326 


SOT IS THEIR SET. 


warm impulsive feeling, never before bad tender 
enthusiasm been poured forth in her presence with 
natural, irresistible sweetness. And now she her- 
self was the object of all this ardent affection. She 
kneAV not how it happened, but her inherited and 
acquired coldness melted before the warmth of a 
happiness hitherto unknown, and her A\diole heart 
struggled towards the person who had aroused the 
exquisite emotion. 

The two young sisters looked at each other a 
moment, smiling through their tears ; then Louise 
opened her arms and Margarethe lay on her bosom. 
Clinging to each other in a close embrace, with 
cheek pressed to cheek, they experienced a moment 
of pure, unclouded happiness. 

Fraulein Heber had left the arbor unobserved, 
and the sisters sat silently and affectionately side 
by side. They gradually grew calmer ; Louise in- 
quired into Margarethe’s life and circumstances, 
and assured her with joyous warmth that she need 
have no farther anxiety, she would hasten her mar- 
riage with Count Guntersburg ; then she would be 
independent and Margarethe should lack nothing a 
sister’s loving care could provide. 

Margarethe again smiled, and clasping Louise’s 
hand said warmly : “ You are full of kindness and 
affection, and I thank you from my inmost ^ul. 
But what would you think of my request if I 
begged you to give your hand to Count Gunters- 
burg only when you could also bestow your affec- 
tion, or at least your sincere esteem.” 


A STRANGE MEETING. 


327 


“That is impossible, dear Margarethe, and it 
would be bad for us both if I was obliged to wait 
so long.” 

“Not for me,” replied Margarethe with another 
smile, “ you need not provide for me. See, I am 
wearing mourning. I have lost a dear friend, but 
his death, in the opinion of the world, has made me 
rich. Oh, that this wealth, to which I have hith- 
erto been so indifferent, might be able to save you 
from an alliance I view with so much dread.” 

“What do you mean, Margarethe?” asked 
Louise, and a shade of her usual gloomy sternness 
overspread her face. 

“ See,” whispered Margarethe, “ that is' the ex- 
pression on your beautiful mouth, I fear, I fear for 
you ; for it promises you no happiness. That is the 
way you look when you are at the Count’s side — 
or even worse. With that cold smile and gloomy 
look you can never possess, or bestow peace.” 

“ I do not hope for, or need happiness.” 

“ It is not well for you to think so ; not well for 
you to say it so angrily, so defiantly. Oh ! dear 
Louise, if this man, who nevertheless seems to 
love you, inspires you with feelings of aversion, 
reject him utterly, rather than make yourself and 
him miserable forever.” 

“ It is too late ; my marriage with him is irrevo- 
cably settled.” 

“ Oh 1 do not say so ; my acquaintance with him 
is very slight, but sufiicient for me to know that he 
is not hard-hearted. He will not wish to compel you 


328 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


to seal the misery of your whole future by a mar- 
riage with him.” 

“ I do not know ; perhaps he can be generous ; 
but it is useless to think of it ; circumstances which 
you cannot understand, compel me to accept the 
hand of some grand seigneur^ and — as I told him — 
it might easily be some one worse than he.” 

“ You told him that ? You spoke so to him. 
Oh ! Louise, Louise, never do such a thing again ; 
try to make him forget it, or release yourself from 
him at any cost.” 

“ I cannot, I tell you ; and they are no empty 
words. Oh ! Margarethe, you do not know what it 
is to have a parent’s house : that is a misfortune ; 
but it is a greater one to long to escape from it as 
from — a hell.” 

“ Louise, my poor dear sister.” 

“ Dear Margarethe, you were not the only one 
who suffered for our father’s sin ; I too am com- 
pelled to bear a part of the atonement. My mother 
cannot love the child, who — as she unfortunately 
learned — has your mother’s features. This myste- 
rious resemblance, which won the heart of your 
father and mine, forever estranged hers from me, 
and she will never rest until I leave her house, no 
matter with whom.” 

“ But is there no other asylum for you ? Have 
you no relatives to whom you might go ? If all I 
possess could smooth the w^ay for you, how happy 
I should be to be able thus to discharge a portion 
of the debt of gratitude I owe for your love.” 


A STRANGE MEETING. 


329 


“ Never I ” cried Louise, rising impetuously with 
an angry flush crimsoning her fair face. “ Countess 
Steinthal can never accept favors from a — a — ” 

She paused, suppressing with difliculty a w'ord 
which might have been very insulting. 

Margarethe looked at her with sorrowful earnest- 
ness, and answered gently ; “ No, I see you cannot ; 
and yet had I needed assistance, I would have ac- 
cepted aid from you, although never from Count 
Steinthal — even if I had been in the most abject 
want. Then I must see you become Count Gun- 
tersburg’s wife — alas ! to your endless misery.” 

‘‘Don’t grieve, Margarethe,” said Louise, who 
had regained her composure. “ There is no way of 
averting this misfortune, and I was betrothed long 
ago.” 

“Yes, there is one,” exclaimed Margarethe 
warmly, “ and you can make use of it. Oh ! do not 
turn away from me so coldly, as if I were the poor 
Count himself, who would so gladly be your grate- 
ful, faithful friend if you would only allow him to 
do so. I am sure that you are dear to him ; for he 
even sought to be kind to me because I reminded 
him of you. He is not a bad man, dearest, indeed 
he is not; for he can recognize goodness amid 
whatever insigniflcant surroundings he may And it. 
Oh ! Louise, you who are so beautiful, so gifted, so 
capable of afiectionate feeling, for my sake do not 
be so cold and repellant to the man towards whom 
you have undertaken the most sacred duties.” 


330 


NOT IN THEIE SET. 


“ For your sake ? ” asked the Countess, some- 
what disagreeably surprised. 

“ Yes, because it will be one bright spot in my 
memory to which I can fly when all else is cold and 
dark ; one creature whom I love more than myself, 
on whom rests no stain of wrong, not even the 
shadow, of a neglected duty. Dear sister, for mj 
sake, try to be happy and make him so.” 

“ Forgive me, Margarethe, forgive me if I mis- 
understood you for a moment, and if you ever hear 
anything good of me, if you see that I am happy 
and make him happy ” — she said this with such a 
charming smile that Margarethe gazed at her with 
delighted eyes — “ think that it is the echo of this 
hour, which is difiusing peace and blessing over my 
life.” 

As the sisters rose to take leave of each other 
they saw Count Guntersburg standing at the en- 
trance of the arbor, watching them with deep 
emotion. A cloud darkened Louise’s brow ; but she 
conquered her rising indignation, and asked kindly : 
“Did you hear what Ave were talking about, 
Count ? ” 

“ Only a little, only the last words, and I beg 
your pardon — ” 

“You need not, it is well that you did hear us; 
for now you, too, will knoAV whom you have to 
thank, if your future wife becomes the pattern ofC 
an excellent married woman.” 

“ Oh ! Louise, if my future is to be a happy one, 
no one but yourself can be’ the creator of it.” 


A STRANGE MEETING. 


331 


As the sisters clasped each other in a parting em- 
brace, Margarethe whispered a request that Louise 
would take Count Steinthal a respectful greeting, 
and give him the assurance that she would hold 
him in alfectionate remembrance. With these words 
they separated; but before Louise left the little 
watering place, the young girls had a long undis- 
turbed conversation in the lonely forest house, and 
did not part without a promise to share their cares 
and sorrows, wishes and plans. Although neither 
was rich in hopes, they were calm in the conscious- 
ness of a good, firm purpose. 


332 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


CHAPTER XXVL 

SUMMER FRIENDS. 

The house of C. & Co. justified old Berger’s fears, 
it really did fail ; hut for the prudence of their old 
business friend, a prudence which was also benefi- 
cial to himself, the mischance would have happened 
sooner. The firm of Berger & Co. still held out, 
altliough creditors, pressed upon the house from far 
and near. Leo’s marriage was close at hand ; it 
would take place in the course of the month ; if 
Berger succeeded in struggling along until then, 
he hoped to recover from the blows he had sus- 
tained, not only without injury to his mercantile 
credit, but even without his most intimate acquain- 
tance having the slightest impression how near he 
had been to utter ruin. 

In his previous consultations with Huldah’s 
mother and step-father he had arranged that, on the 
wedding-day, a portion of his future daughter-in- 
law’s property, nearly equal .in amount to the sum 
Leo had inherited from his mother, should be in- 
vested in the business of Berger & Co. As they 
then believed him to be perfectly safe, they made 


SUMMER FRIENDS. 


333 


no special objections to this. With this sum he 
could maintain his old connections in the usual 
manner ; and would not be compelled to contract 
his business in any way, or to act more cautiously 
and hesitatingly than usual. And if he succeeded 
— which appeared by no means difficult — in keeping 
things in their customary state even one year, he 
would not only considerably increase his capital, but, 
which was still more important to him, his credit in 
the financial world must stand higher than ever, 
when people saw that his property had scarcely 
been affected by such heavy blows. So he held his 
head as high as ever, and flattered himself with the 
hope that he should live long enough to be able to 
leave Leo more than Rudolph had received from 
him. 

Just then a house in*C. failed, whose notes the 
unfortunate Berger held to a large amount, and bn 
whose security he had firmly relied, but it ha 1 suf- 
fered heavily by the fall of C. & Co. 

Now, for the first time, Leo saw his father utterly 
helpless. The old man sat in his private office, 
holding in his hand the unlucky notes which had 
just represented so large an amount, and had now 
become mere worthless bits of paper ; listening in 
stupid silence to the loud questions and answers, 
coming and going in his counting-room, which 
showed the ever increasing distrust of his situation. 
He had sent for Leo, but had not spoken a word to 
him since his entrance, though his son repeatedly 


334 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


asked, Did you want anything, father ? Have you 
any commission for me ? ” 

At last the old man rose, uttered a deep sigh, 
passed his hand over his pale brow, and said half 
to himself : It must be ! ” Then he turned reso- 
lutely to his son and began : “ Hitherto I have been 
an honest man, against wliom no one could utter a 
word of reproach. Honest I am still ; for I am un- 
fortunate, but not guiltj^, yet I am no longer free 
from reproach, for every one who loses even a 
penny by me, will accuse me of having cheated 
him, although it is a lie. But this terrible lie will 
have the semblance of truth, for I am no longer in 
a position to be just to all my creditors. Matters 
have stood thus ever • since these — he threw the 
worthless notes scornfully upon the table — have be- 
come bankrupt.” * 

“ Father,” said Leo sorrowfully, “ perhaps they 
are as innocent as we.” 

“ It is possible, nay even probable,” replied 
Berger in the same gloomy tone as before; “ You 
see that I, who may expect , to share their fate in a 
few days, and believe they did not act dishonestly, 
am not disposed to judge their fall leniently. Im- 
agine from this, how others will express their opin- 
ions who suffer losses by us without being disposed 
to indulgence, by the approach of similar dangers.” 
“ Dear father, your consciousness of innocence — ” 
“ My consciousness of innocence ? ” interrupted 
the merchant bitterly. “I tell you from the 
moment my failure is announced, I shall be con- 


SUMMER FRIENDS. 


335 


scions of nothing except that my debts exceed my 
assets, for I owe people whose claims — -just claims 
— I cannot satisfy.’* 

Leo did not contradict him. He had the same 
strict business principles as his father, and suffered 
no less acutely from the impending danger that 
threatened his honor as a merchant. Tlie old man 
rose and walked up and down the room several 
times, then paused before his son, and looking him 
steadily in the face, asked : “ When shall you be 
married ? ” 

Leo slightly changed color, and replied, “On 
the 19th.” 

“ To-day is the 7th,” said his father ; “ so there are 
still thirteen days — that is too long. Can’t you 
find some pretext to hasten your wedding ? ” 

“ Hasten my wedding ? ” asked Leo somewhat 
alarmed, but still more astonished. “ That is im- 
possible, father.” 

“It must be done, Leo, must be. We cannot 
hold out until the 19th. The Hamburger notes fall 
due on the 14th, all other claims that can be made 
upon us will be paid ; but it will nearly exhaust the 
ready money, and when these are presented unless 
we can previously secure new supplies — to speak 
plainly — unless we have the Heuberg money in our 
hands, we must stop payment.” 

“ Yes — it is sad, sad,” murmured Leo, who at this 
moment was thinking more of the unavailing sac- 
rifice he had made ot his love, than of the ruin of 
his * house. 


336 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


“Yes it would be sad, worse than sad,” said 
Berger, not in the sorrowful tone his son had used, 
but with some slight return of his former energy, 
“ and therefore it must not be. You must be mar- 
ried before the 14th, Leo, at all events.” 

“ It is impossible, dear father. Huldah’s parents 
would not allow a marriage day already so near, to 
be hastened on any pretext whatever.” 

- “ Then,” exclaimed the merchant, “ her money 
must aid me before it ; I am going to her father,” 
and he resolutely seized his hat to set out upon his 
difficult errand. But Leo seized his arm and held 
him back. “ Faihfer,” he said imploringly, “ don’t do 
this, pray don’t do it. You do not know how hard a 
sacrifice I am making for you in wedding an un- 
loved wife for the sake of her wealth which is indis- 
pensable to you; but while still only betrothed, I 
never can nor will consent to appear before her in 
the character of a beggar.” 

Old Berger was dissuaded from his resolution 
with great difficulty, and when he at last yielded to 
his son’s entreaties, it was only in appearance. He 
was determined to explain his affairs to Herr Olden- 
brook, Huldah’s step-father, without Leo’s knowl- 
edge, and obtain a promise that the matter should 
be kept secret from him. 

The unpleasant walk was spared him, but in a 
very unexpected manner. He had been working 
busily at his desk until the approach of twilight, 
and was considering whether to send for a light and 
continue his employment, or go to Huldah’s step- 


SUMMER FRIENDS. 


387 


father instead of waiting till the following day. 
He had just decided to do so without delay, as it 
was one of his maxims never to defer a disagreeable 
task, when to his surprise the door of his room was 
opened, and Leo ushered in his future father-in-law. 
“ Herr Oldenbrook wishes to speak to you, dear 
father. I told him he would not disturb you.” 

“ No, certainly not; no visit could be more wel- 
come. But let us go into the sitting-room, we shall 
be more comfortable there.” 

“Not yet, Herr Berger,” said Oldenbrook with 
a somewhat formal manner, “ I won’t disturb you ; 
I don’t doubt you have a great deal to do, and 
therefore will not remain long.” 

“ Oh ! don’t be so ceremonious ; business hours 
are over, my clerks are all gone, and I don’t see 
why an old fellow like myself should be tormented, 
any more than the young people.” 

“ Certainly not, if there were no matters that 
can’t be trusted to young people ; and I almost 
fear, Herr Berger, you have your hands full of such 
things now.” 

“What do you mean by that?” asked Berger, 
who had been unpleasantly chilled by Oldenbrook’s 
manner, together with the turn he had almost forci- 
bly given to the conversation, and casting aside all 
appearance of considering the visit one of mere 
friendship, he resumed his seat, and said in a dry 
business-like tone : “ Sit down, Herr Oldenbrook.” 

His guest took a chair, hemmed, looked at Leo, 
who had seated himself on a sofa at the back of the 


So 8 NOT IN IHEIR SET. 

room, glanced at Herr Berger again, and then be- 
gan without any circumlocution, like a man who 
wishes to discharge an unpleasant duty as quickly 
as possible. “ Is it true that you have lost heavily 
by the last failure in C. ? 

“ It is true,” replied Berger calmly, though he 
felt he was turning pale. 

“ Ah — tliat too — that’s bad, very bad.” 

“Yes — it has seriously affected us.” 

“ Oh ! and after the losses which, as every one 
knows you suiffu-ed from the failure of C. & Co.! 
I hoped the rumor was not true, though it greatly 
alarmed me. But of course, if you admit it your- 
self, there can be no farther doubt.” 

“ But I have only acknoAvledged it to you, Herr 
Oldenbrook, because I look upon you as an inti- 
mate friend, almost a relative, and I most earnestly 
entreat you to observe the strictest silence.” 

“ What — do you exj^ect to hold out ? ” 

“We shall be able to do so, if — ”the unfortunate 
man hesitated — his fate depended upon the next 
moment, the good will of the man who sat gazing 
at him with such pitiless scrutiny. 

“ If ? ” asked Oldenbrook suspiciously. 

“If before the 14th, we can obtain a sum suffi- 
cient for the payment of some notes which fall due 
on that day.” 

“I most heartily wish you may be successful, 
Herr Berger, but I doubt it.” 

“You doubt it?” 

“ Do not you yourself ? Who would have the 


SUMMER FRIENDS. 


339 


courage to trust even the smallest sum in your 
hands ?” 

“ Herr Oldenbrook ! ” passionately exclaimed 
Leo, who had listened to the conversation with 
painful interest ; but he controlled himself, and con- 
tinued : “ Remember that you are speaking to a 
man whose honor is stainless.” 

“ I fear,” replied the merchant in a gentler tone, 
‘‘ I am speaking to a ruined man, and I deeply re- 
gret it ; but my visit concerns you, young man, 
more than your father.” 

Herr Berger breathed somewhat more freely, 
under the influence of an illusion whose vanity he 
was to perceive only too soon. He supposed Huldah 
had sent her father to her lover’s assistance ; bitter 
error ! 

“ And what do you wish to say to me ? ” asked 
Leo. 

My wife and I have consented to your betrothal 
to our daughter. This was done under a supposi- 
tion, which as I am now compelled to learn to my 
great regret, was founded entirely upon an error. 
You will therefore let our duty as parents apologize 
for us if we — although very unwillingly, I assure 
you, very unwillingly — recall our promise, and beg 
you to consider your engagement to our daughter 
at an end.” 

Leo trembled from head to foot. To be rejected 
thus! But with a violent eflbrt he forced himself 
to remain calm, and asked in a voice whose agita- 
tion was scarcely perceptible : ‘‘ What do you mean 


340 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


by a mistake, on account of which you no longer 
consider my betrothed bound by her promise ? ” 

“ Why that must be perfectly clear to you ! 
When we gave our consent to your marriage with 
our daughter, your father’s affairs were not yet in- 
volved — at least so Ave supposed — but noAV — good 
heavens, you must understand Avhat I mean.” 

“ I understand you perfectly ; but you are labor- 
ing under a mistake. Huldah does not need your 
consent to her marriage with me. You are not her 
father, and she came of age six months ago. 
Huldah’s mother — at least I hope so — Avill not de- 
sire to destroy her daughter’s happiness because my 
dear father has met with unmerited misfortune. 
And Huldah herself — ” 

“ Huldah herself,” interrupted Oldenbrook, “ is 
far too good and sensible a child not to allow her- 
self to be guided by the wishes and opinions of her 
parents.” 

“ Impossible; that is impossible ! ” exclaimed Leo 
rising impetuously. “ Huldali cannot be so faith- 
less, especially as slie will suffer no disappointment 
from the misfortunes of our house ; for I made no 
secret of my father's embarrassments.” 

“ Poor child ! she says you hinted something of 
the kind to her, but she did not* believe or misun- 
derstood you.” 

“ Misunderstood ? I spoke plainly enough ! But 
I Avill go to her; she shall tell me her decision 
herself.” 

Leo hurried through the streets to the residence 


SUMMER FRIENDS. 


341 


of his betrothed with a quicker step, a heart beat- 
ing more violently than had ever been the case be- 
fore; for this was the first moment that he had 
ever really desired to possess her ; partly from the 
rough manner with which they now strove to break 
an alliance which they had formerly so visibly 
sought and favored, and partly because he had been 
a deeply sympathizing spectator of his father’s suf- 
ferings during the painful conversation with Olden- 
brook. His own future had become more indiffer- 
ent to him than ever, and he was firmly resolved 
to exert all his influence over Huldah to save his 
father. 

Meantime it had grown dark; and when he 
reached the square before Huldah’s house, he saw a 
light shining from her windows. He rushed eag- 
erly up the steps, on which his foot had so often 
lingered with a reluctance scarcely acknowledged, 
even to himself, and entered Huldah’s picture and 
flower adorned apartment. She was leaning back 
in a deep arm-chair, with swollen eyes, holding a 
Avet pocket-handkerchief in her hand. So she too 
had sufiered and wept for him. It was not as they 
said, she eould not cast him off so heartlessly. 

Her mother was sitting beside her. At Leo’s 
entrance she rose with an air of offended dignity, 
and said harshly : “ I should have expected more 
consideration from you ; I really hoped you would 
spare my daughter a scene, when she has already 
suffered so much.” ' 

“ Pardon me, Madame Oldenbrook ; I have no 


342 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


desire to make one ; and it would grieve me deeply 
if I were compelled to cause Huldah sorrow. But 
I hope that this will not be the case ” 

“Your acts do not agree with your words, Herr 
Berger; you must surely feel that after what has 
happened, your presence here is an annoyance to 
my daughte 

“ My presence an annoj^ance ? An annoyance to 
my betrothed ? That is impossible, Madame.” 

“ My daughter is no longer betrothed to you Herr 
Berger; I suppose my liusband has informed you 
of the fact, and that this circumstance is the cause 
of your present agitation, which you would have 
done better to have spared us.” 

“It is true, Madame Oldenbrook, your husband 
did pitilessly make this insulting, offensive com- 
munication ; but I could not believe it, and there- 
fore hurried here to hear from Huldah’s own lips 
that she does not deserve the reproach of faith- 
lessness.” 

“ You are perfectly correct, sir; she does not de- 
serve it ; it would be more appropriate to reproach 
you for having deceived the poor innocent child.” 

Leo turned from mother to daughter with an im- 
petuous, angry gesture. The latter was leaning 
back in her chair, sobbing audibly, but she did not 
speak. 

“Huldah,” said Leo very earnestly, “ You hear 
the words which bring so heavy a charge against 
your affianced husband, and do not contradict 
them.” 


SUMMER FRIENDS. 


343 


“ Are they not true then ? ” sobbed Huldah 
“True,” exclaimed Leo with an outburst of in- 
dignation, which made Madame Oldenbrook shrink, 
and checked Iluldah’s tears, “true? In what — 
speak out plainly — in what have I deceived you ? 
Wherein have I ever misled you.” 

“I thought, I naturally supposed,” faltered 
Huldah in terror, “ that you — that you — that your 
father — ” 

“ That my father ? ” asked Leo with his eyes 
fixed sternly on her face. “ I beg you to proceed. 

“Well — that your father belonged to the first 
merchants in the city.” 

“ My father belonged, and does still belong to 
the first merchants in the city ; you v/ere not mis- 
taken there. But wherein have I deceived you ? ” 
Huldah was silent, and again began to cry. Her 
mother wished to speak for her, but Leo said 
firmly : “ Do not try to come to Huldah’s assist- 
ance, Madame ; for it would only lead us farther 
from the goal ; she must speak for herself.” 

“Ah!” moaned Huldah, “I — I really thought 
you would be more delicate, and not torture me with 
questions which are so painful to me. But I see I 
have been mistaken in you there also.” 

“There? And where else? You must speak 
plainly, Huldah,” persisted Leo inexorably 

“ Oh ! of course in the belief that— that you had 
a fortune equal to mine ; and now we have been 
forced to learn that — that your father — ” 

“ That my father is on the verge of failure,” said 


344 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


Leo with a sorrowful glance. “ But until to-day he 
had w'ell-founded hopes of being able to hold oiit, 
and with God’s help he will succeed. But how'ever 
great iny father’s present necessities may be, you 
could not have been surprised, Huldah.” 

I could not be surprised ? ” she asked with more 
vivacity than she liad hitherto shown. “ Good 
Heavens ! every one is surprised, the shrewdest 
business men did not suspect it ; how was it possible 
for me to know ? ” 

“Because, Huldah, when I offered you my hand 
I told you frankly of my father’s embarrassed cir- 
cumstances, and have alluded to them several times 
since.” 

“Ah!” said Huldah in an under tone, “how 
could I think such speeches had any foundations in 
truth ? I suppose you talked of such things merely 
— merely to put my — my love to the test ! ” 

“Huldah!” exclaimed Leo angrily. 

“ Yes — of course I did. What else was I to think 
of it ? ” asked Huldah, now sitting erect in her 
chair, with growing indignation. 

“ What were you to think of it ? First, that I 
cherished a desire to act towards you like a man of 
honor, and also that your betrothed husband es- 
teemed you too highly to consider you merely as 
the partner of his pleasures ; that he would far 
rather seek and find in you consolation in the hour 
of sorrow and care. How you know I have spoken 
the truth, that I am really an unhappy man weighed 


SUMMER FRIENDS, 


345 


down by the heavy blows of fate, who has nothing 
to offer you but a faithful heart, and a strong, in- 
dustrious hand. Will you accept these trifling 
gifts, which you have so often said were dearer to 
you than all the treasures of the earth? ” 

‘‘Good Heavens, Herr Berger,” said Madame 
Oldenbrook impatiently, “Huldah has already re- 
peatedly assured you that she considered your 
former hints as mere tests of her affection, and re- 
plied to you in that supposition.” 

“ And Huldah, what do you say now ? ” 

“ That I,” stammered Huldah, forced to speak by 
his steady gaze, “that I — that mamma is right, 
when she thinks I should be incapable of disobedi- 
ence to my parents, although my heart bleeds, and 
I have undergone such a bitter struggle with my 
great love, which — oh — makes me so very un 
liappy.” 

“ So this is the way you bear the test when it 
really comes,” said Leo in a low trembling voice, 
fixing a half compassionate, half scornful glance 
on the weeping girl. Poor creature! And I was 
just beginning to feel a sincere affection for you, as 
sincere as is possible for a man, who — but why do I 
speak of that here? Good-night, Huldah; I am 
very sorrv to have given you cause for these tears; 
but calm yourself, you will soon forget me, and 
another, a richer man, will make you happy in your 
oyni way.” 

He left the room ; Huldah heard the door close 


846 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


behind him. She started up ! “ Oh ! mamma, has 
he really gone ? ” 

“ Thank God, yes.” 

“ Ah ! I shall never see him again, and I loved 
him so very, very dearly.” 

“ Don’t be foolish, Huldah. Thank your Creator 
that we make this discovery at the right time. You 
had a narrow escape from becoming a bankrupt’s 
wife, or standing in the gap with your whole 
fortune.” 

“Yes, mamma, he treated me very badly.” 

“Well, he would not acknowledge it, and it is 
not to be denied that your folly serves him in some 
degree as an apology. You ought not to have been 
such a goose as to promise him your hand without 
telling your parents his scrupulous confessions 
about the state of his property. But such stupidity 
is the fruit of your everlasting novel reading.” 

Leo hesitatingly entered his father’s room. The 
lamp cast its light upon open letters. Old Berger 
sat before it, but he was not working; he raised his 
heavy eyes to his son’s face, and after gazing at his 
sorrowful countenance a moment, held out his hand 
to him. “ I see, Leo, that you have done violence 
to your heart, and tried to induce your betrothed 
to keep her vows. It is all in vain — be it so. We 
will pay our debts so long as we can call a penny 
our own, and then may God provide for the future. 
Come, I am hungry and tired ; we will have our 
supper and then go to rest.” 


SUMMER FRIENDS. 


347 


“ May God strengthen you, father ; nay, He is 
doing so now. We will wind up our business here 
with the utmost conscientiousness, and then leave 

D . Henceforward my whole life belongs to 

you alone, and thanks to the education you have 
given me I shall not fail to find employment which 
will enable me to secure you a peaceful old age, 
free from care.” 


348 


NOT IN THBIE SET. 


CHAPTER XXVn. 

MAEGAEETHE MEETS AN OLD FEIEND. 

After the departure of lier young mistress, Margar- 
ethe’s servant spent a very quiet time in the house 
at Bergefort, and although she tried to fill up the 
hours as much as possible by scouring and cleaning 
they had seemed very long to her. But like every- 
thing else Dora’s solitude at last drew towards an 
end, and the day arrived which was to bring Mar- 
garethe and Fraulein Heber back to Bergefort. 
Tlie good old woman rose at dawn because she 
fancied there was still a great deal to be done ; but 
before noon all her preparations were completed, 
and a weary time of idle waiting ensued. Dora 
knew that it would be almost night before her 
young lady could arrive, yet she gradually imag- 
ined she must come sooner, and no creaking peasant 
wagon rumbled over the wretched pavements of 
Bergefort without rousing a hope that it might be 
her young lady’s carriage. 

It was three o’clock in the afternoon Avhen the 
noise of wheels and , horse’s hoofs again became 
audible through the open windows of the kitchen. 


MAEGARETIIE MEETS AN OLD FRIEND. 


349 


Dora was firmly determined not to let herself be 
fooled this time, and resolutely kept her seat. But 
what was- that ? The rattling of the wheels did 
not die away along the high road ; on the contrary 
the wagon came nearer, and now rumbled over the 
wooden bridge. It must be the ladies. Dora 
rushed hastily through the entry and out of the 
house. 

But she experienced a fresh disappointment. 
True, a vehicle was really approaching, but it bore 
as little resemblance to the Justizrath’s carriage in 
which Margarethe must arrive, as a kitchen chair to 
a cushioned fauteuil. It was a gaily painted wagon 
with a white tilt, drawn by a stiff farm-horse. 
Dora, made sulky by this fresh disappointment of 
her hopes, was about to go back into the house 
when, to her astonishment, the vehicle stopped 
under the linden trees and the driver, a sturdy 
peasant lad began to make clumsy preparations to 
descend from his seat. When he at last reached 
the ground he handed the reins to some one in the 
cart, turned slowly toward Dora, pulled sleepily at 
his cap and said : “ Good-morning ! Bring us a 
chair.” 

“ A chair ! ” exclaimed Dora in astonishment. 

Yes, so she can get out,” he explained pointing 
over his shoulder to the wagt)n, with the handle ot 
his whip. 

“ Get out ? but who’s in there ? There can’t be 
anybody in the cart who wants us.” 

“But she does; she wants Mamselle Gretclien, 


350 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


she says. We came the whole way expressly for 
that ; and its even farther than Kerelaer.” 

Dora now understood that some of the peasants 
whom her young mistress knew in her childhood 
had taken a fancy to pay ner a visit. She was by 
no means pleased ; for in the first place she did not 
like to have memories of that period of her life 
newly awakened in Margarethe’s mind, and sec- 
ondly she susp^'cted that some presumptuous de- 
mand was the true cause of the visit ; so she walked 
down to the cart with a- somewhat unfriendly ex- 
pression, and cast a glance under the tilt. 

A pale, elderly woman, in a half fashionable, 
half countrified, but perfectly neat dress, sat within, 
and a pretty, delicate face with a pair of bright 
eyes, looked out at her inquiringly, but not timidly. 

“ Good-day,” said Dora, “ I hear you want to 
speak to Fraulein Margarethe Greven.” 

“Yes, indeed, I must speak to her; so be kind 
enough to bring me a chair to help me down. I 
am lame.” 

“The young lady isn’t at home,” said Dora, 
hoping to get rid of the stranger. 

“ Not at home. But she will soon come back? ” 

“ She has gone away on a journey,” replied Dora 
evasively. 

“ Gone away on a journey ! ” exclaimed the 
stranger clasping her hands in terror. “ Meg-ciful 
Mother ! this is a misfortune.” 

“ A misfortune ! Misfortune to whom ? ” asked 
Dora suspiciously, thinking that she should find 


MAEGAEETHE MEETS AN OLD FEIEND. 351 

positive confirmation of her supposition in regard 
to some preposterous demand. 

“ To whom ? Alas ! to poor young Herr Berger, 
and then I fear it would probably be one to Frau- 
lein Gretchen.” 

Dora’s sulky listlessness disappeared. She knew 
enough of Margarethe’s early history, to be aware 
that the name of Berger was not indifierent to her 
young mistress, and now asked eagerly : And who 
are you, if I may inquire ? ” 

“ I sign myself Anna Hulsebush,” said the stran- 
ger with an air of dignified solemnity, “ but I am 
generally called Annchen of Nordhecke.” 

“ Ah ! ” cried Dora, now completely thawed, “ is 
it you Fraulern Annchen? Dear me, to think I 
should not have known it before ! Bernard,” she 
called to a peasant lad who was peeping inquisi- 
tively around the corner of the house, “ make haste 
and bring a chair so that the lady can get out ! 
There — and now you can take the horse and wagon 
round into the barn, and then bring the driver into 
supper. Walk in, Fraulein Annchen, pray walk 
in. How pleased our young lady will be when she 
comes back to-night.” 

From this time our old acquaintance, Annchen 
of Hordhecke, had every reason to be satisfied 
with her reception at Bergefort; and was so. For 
the ?i?emainder of her days this journey was a source 
of the greatest pride, and she never ceased to give 
her numerous acquaintances and other good friends 


352 


NOT IN THEIK SET. 


every detail of it, with the most heartfelt pleasure 
and conscientious accuracy. 

When the shadows began to lengthen, the Justiz- 
rath’s carriage really came across the wooden 
bridge, and Fraulein Heber and Margarethe alighted 
under the linden trees. Both were very glad to 
return to the quiet house. Fraulein Heber was 
greatly strengthened by the waters of the springs, 
and Margarethe felt enabled to successfully resist 
the memory of a beautiful but now dangerous 
Past, b}^ the beneficial employment which the new 
ties formed between Countess Louise and herself 
afforded her thoughts. 

Annchen’s unexpected presence increased the 
cheerfulness of the welcome which the faithful old 
servant had prepared for the young girl on her re- 
turn to her own house. 

The first half hour was passed in gay questions 
and answers about various little experiences wliich 
had occurred to both ; but Amichen gradually be- 
came more and more quiet ; and Margarethe who 
was familiar with her old friend’s moods, asked 
sympathizingly : “ What is the matter, Annchen ? 
You have something on your mind.” 

“Yes, and something that weighs very heavily, 
Fraulein Gretchen. Could I speak to you a moment 
alone ? ” 

“ Certainly ; you shall tell me everything that 
troubles you. Come into this room. There, sit 
down at the little table by the window. I wfill 
take the place opposite to you, then we shall be- 


MARGARETIIE MEETS AN OLD FRIEND. 353 


together just as we so often were in your own 
room.” 

“Yes, Fraulein Gretchen. And can you still re- 
member what we talked about then ? Especially 
the last evening, before your uncle took you away 
from old dost ? ” 

“ Oh ! we talked about all sorts of things, An li- 
chen,” said Margarethe, blushing in spite of her- 
self. “ The Hofschultin’s cap, I believe, among 
other things.” 

Annchen laughed. “ To be sure ; you had rum- 
pled one of the loops. But that Avasn’t what I 
meant. We were also talking about a young geia- 
tleman who Avas then in England.” 

“ Of Leo ! ” exclaimed Margarethe, Avith a sud- 
den change of color. 

“ Yes, of him. You then persisted that he would 
inquire about you Avhen he came back; I didn’t 
believe it. But you Avere right; he came to me 
and asked about you with tears in his eyes. I did 
not dare to tell AA^here you lived, because you and 
your uncle had so strictly forbidden it.” 

“ It was better so, Annchen. He Avill never come 
to you to inquire about me again ; for he is going 
to marry a young lady in D .” 

Annchen nodded sadly. “I knoAV it; they say he 
consented because she is rich and his hither has been 
very unfortunate in business. I don’t know how 
that is ; he may have done it for his father’s sake, 
and he may love her. But it is all the same to us ; 


354 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


the misfortune is that it won’t avail him, whether 
he marries lier out of love for his father or herself.” 

“ How so ? What do you mean ? ” asked Mar- 
garethe, gasping for breath. 

“ I heard it from some one who knows all about 

it ; the messenger from D , who came to bring 

some goods to B . He said all D was full 

of it.” 

“ Of what, Annchen ? What did the man say ? ” 

“He said that old Berger had lost a frightful 

amount in business ; enough to buy B with all 

the peasants’ farms. Yes, he has been rich ; but 
now his debts will ruin him. If he don’t pay twenty, 
or forty, or fifty thousand thalers by the middle of 
this month, he will be put in prison and brought 
before the courts.” 

Margarethe had heard enough of commercial 
law and similar subjects from her dead uncle’s 
occasional conversations with business men, to be 
able to form some idea, although not a very clear 
one, of the consequences of bankruptcy, and es- 
pecially pretended bankruptcy. The information 
which Annchen now gave to ber about Herr 
Berger’s affairs seemed to indicate only too clearly 
a failure of the latter description. Good Heavens I 
how Leo, who was so upright, so noble, so honora- 
ble, must feel at such a disgraceful calamity ! She 
sat opposite her little informant, pale and silent, 
scarcely knowing what more to ask, and still less 
how to shape her questions, but Annchen con- 
tinued : 


MARGARETHE MERTS AN OLD FRIEND. 


355 


“ I thought his eldest son, wlio had made such a 

wealthy marriage in M , would help him ; but 

the young wife and the father-in-law won’t hear of 
such a thing. They say, too, it doesn’t trouble him 
at all ; he is avaricious and glad to have an excuse 
for keeping his pockets shut, and hiding behind his 
wife’s father.” 

“But that is really terrible,” said Margarethe, 
half grieved, half indignant. “Even’ if the father 
has done wrong, the son ought to help him in the 
hour of need.” 

“ So I say, Fraulein Gretchen ; and it is all the 
more shameful in Herr Rudolph, because his father 

really isn’t at all to blame. People in D , say 

that he has had nothing but misfortune for the last 
few years.” 

“ But Leo, that is his youngest son — has he no 
help for his father ? ” 

“ Oh ! they say he would have given up every- 
thing he inherited from his mother, even her gold 
ear-rings and diamond cross. But it is no use ; their 
debts are like the sands of the sea.” 

“ It is sad — very sad, Annchen ! But didn’t you 
say that the youngest Herr Berger was betrothed 
to a wealthy girl ? ” 

“ Yes, and that is the most pitiful part of tbe 
whole affair. Herr Leo wanted to be married before 
the middle of this month, and then when he had 
his wife’s money in his hands, he could pay his 
father’s debts and help him out of his difficulties. 
But she got wind of it, and is neither more nor less 


356 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


than a merchant’s daughter. She got wind of it — 
I mean of what her lover intended to do with her 
money — and so she deferred the wedding until the 
last of the month. But by that time everything 
will be over ; the old gentleman will have been im- 
prisoned; and what is the worst of the matter, 
Herr Leo cannot release him. His betrothed has 
had all her money settled upon herself, so that he 
can’t give away the value of a groschen without 
her consent. The messenger said he begged her 
on his knees to save his father, but in vain; and 
ever since then he has gone about like a shadow on 
the wall, and it is pitiable to see him.” 

Margarethe rose from her chair, looking paler and 
more terrified than when she stood by her uncle’s 
death-bed, walked to another window, gazed out at 
the little patch of turf, which lay half concealed 
under the shadow of the chestnut tree, and clasp- 
ing her hands, murmured gently : “ Oh ! Leo, poor 
Leo, what a fearful shipwreck of hope and happi- 
ness, love and faith, you must have suffered ! So 
this was the cause of your sudden betrothal ; and 
you did it in vain ; in vain you threw away your sole 
joy and mine — the memory of the Past; but your 
father shall be aided. This burden, at least, I can 
remove from your heart, and it shall be done with- 
out delay.” 

“ And you came to tell me all this ? ” she said, 
turning to Annchen. 

“Yes, Fraulein Gretchen. I made up my mind 
to do so as soon as I heard it; for I thought you 


MARGARETHE MEETS AN OLD FRIEND. 357 

would never forgive me if you did not learn it in 
time.” 

“ You faithful heart I .Thank you ; you were 
perfectly right. I should never have been happy 
again if the father of such a kind old friend as Herr 
Leo Berger has been to me, sank to ruin unaided, 
when it was so easy for me to assist him. You say 
help must reach him before the middle of the 
month. Yes? Then there is no time to lose ; to- 
day is the 10th. I must set out to D , at dawn 

to-morrow. Fraulein Heber will probably be too 
tired to travel again after a short night’s rest ; but 
no matter — I dare not wait. What impropriety 
could any one find in my seeking a short interview 
with an old man, whose two sons are already mar- 
ried, or the same as married. And suppose they 

do ! I must be in D to-morrow evening ; he 

shall not suffer any grief I can spare him, one 
moment longer than is necessary, while I am able to 
remove it.” 

When Fraulein Heber heard the subject of the 
discussion, she insisted upon accompanying her 
young friend to D , and, touched by her faith- 

ful affection, Margarethe gratefully accepted her 
offer. Annchen easily allowed herself to be per- 
suaded to remain with Dora until the two ladies 
returned, and the next morning, an hour after sun- 
rise, stood with tearful eyes beside the old servant 
under the linden trees, gazing after the traveling 
carriage which had just crossed the wooden bridge 
and turned down the road over which it had come 
the day before. 


358 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


CHAPTER XXYIIL 

IN THE HOUR OF NEED. 

Another day of weary toil to old Berger and his 
son was drawing to a close. They had received 
business calls, written letters, cast up accounts, and 
sent replies to correspondents. Small sums had been 
received, large amounts paid out, and their whole 
occupation was assuming more and more the char- 
acter of settling up a business. In vain had the 
unfortunate merchant looked to various quarters for 
assistance, in vain applied here and there for aid ; 
all his efforts were unsuccessful, and although to 
the astonishment of his son, and the chagrin of his 
enemies, he had still continued to pay all demands, 
he could unfortunately clearly calculate the hour 
when he should be compelled to cease doing so. 
Leo assisted him faithfully and ably; the young 
man was as calm, cautious, and unwearied in his 
activity as his father; though both were equally 
hopeless, and had no other support than their tor- 
turing excitement, and the honorable desire to do 
their duty honestly until the last moment. 

They had left the counting house and entered the 


IN THE HOUR OF NEED. 


359 


sitting-room, where they sat in dejected silence. 
Old Herr Berger was biting a cigar he had forgot- 
ten to light, and his son sat gazing at him, appar- 
ently watching his father’s unavailing elforts to 
smoke, but really scarcely knowing what was be- 
fore him. 

The door-bell rang, questions and answers were 
audible, and then steps approached along the hall ; 
Leo changed his position uneasily ; for the slightest 
incident now made him anxious. His father laid 
aside his cigar and began to pace up and down the 
room. 

The servant entered. ‘‘ Here is a letter for you, 
Herr Berger; the waiter from the ‘Black Eagle’ 
brought it, and says he will wait for an answer.” 

“ Yery well, take him into the kitchen ; I will 
ring when the answer is ready. He approached 
the table and held the letter near the lamp, but the 
seal and hand-writing were both unfamiliar. He 
read the lines, and threw the sheet gloomily aside. 
“ It is from aHady, a stranger, who is lodging at the 
‘ Black Eagle.’ She begs me to call upon her to- 
night, as she has important business to communi- 
cate, whose nature she hopes will not be disagreea- 
ble to me. The note hasn’t even a signature.” 

Leo took up the letter ; the writing was unfamil- 
iar to him also ; it was Fraulein Heber’s hand. But 
as the writer earnestly desired to receive a visit 
from his father, and the latter did not seem inclined 
to comply with her request, he asked kindly : 


360 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


“ Shall I go, father ? The lady appears to consider 
her business important.” 

“ Yes, what will it prove to be ? Some gossiping 
old acquaintance who has stopped in passing 
through the town, and will tell me she is coming 
from her son’s wedding, or her grand-daughter’s 
christening. But I will go ; it is still too early for 
bed, and the hours until then seem interminably 
long.” 

Leo made no objection. He did not envy his 
father the little diversion of mind, of whatever 
character it might be. So the merchant took his 
hat and cane, and his son remained alone with his 
cheerless thoughts. 

The “ Black Eagle ” was a quiet respectable inn, 
which stood in the outskirts of the city, near one 
of the gates. Berger walked slowly towards it, too 
deeply occupied with his oppressive cares to feel 
anything more than a fleeting interest in the ap- 
proaching interview with his unknown correspon- 
dent. As he stepped into the lighted doorway of 
the hotel, he was really obliged to stop to remem- 
ber the cause of his presence there. A maid ser- 
vant led the way up the stair-case, opened the door 
of one of the best rooms, and said : “ Here is the 
gentleman you sent for, Fraulein.” 

“ You are very welcome,” said a pleasant voice, 
and a lady dressed in black rose from a sofa in the 
back of the room, and advanced to meet her visitor 
with evident timidity. To the merchant’s astonish- 
ment, he did not see the familiar face of some 


IN THE HOUR OF NEED. 


361 


elderly acquaintance, but a very beautiful young 
girl, a total stranger. He supposed that there 
must be some mistake, and said apologetically : I 
beg your pardon if I am not the visitor you expect ; 
a note which was perhaps addressed to me by mis- 
take, induced me to present myself to you.” 

“Are you Herr Berger Senior?” replied the 
stranger in a tone of courteous inquiry. 

“ That is my name,” said the old gentleman 
with a polite bow. 

“Then you are certainly the gentleman whose 
visit I requested,” replied the stranger, fixing her 
eyes on his pale wrinkled face with an expression 
of involuntary sympathy, as she offered him a 
chair. “ Pardon the liberty I have taken, and allow 
me to make a request, for whose fulfilment I am 
very anxious.” 

Berger was perfectly bewitched by the modest 
loveliness of his new acquaintance, and his reply 
came from his heart: “I almost fear that I am not 
in a condition at present to be of any use to you, 
and I am very sorry for your sake, my dear young- 
lady ; for it would make me happy to be permitted 
to do you a favor.” 

“ Thank you for your kind reply,” said the stran- 
ger cordially, “ it is really a guarantee for the grat- 
ification of my wish, for you can — I am sure — 
easily grant what I was about to ask.” 

“Will you be kind enough to explain yourself 
more clearly.” 

“Certainly; I am entirely alone” — a vivid blush 


362 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


sulFused the stranger’s pale, beautiful face — ‘‘ and 
have a considerable fortune. An able business man 
like yourself, Herr Berger, has perhaps no idea how 
tiresome and burdensome the care of such an estate 
can become to a young, inexperienced woman. So 
I thought — I hoped — with your business knowledge, 
your well-known ability, it would not be difficult 
for you to aid me, so — so — ” 

“ So you have selected me for your steward ? ” 
asked Berger, smiling at her embarrassment, and 
ut the same time greatly astonished at the myste- 
rious confidence offered him here, while elsewhere 
he met nothing but distrust on all sides. 

“Hot exactly,’^ she replied somewhat more 
boldly. “ Inexperienced as I am, I have sufficient 
judgment to perceive that a busy merchant would 
have neither time nor inclination to undertake such 
a task. I therefore merely wished to ask your per- 
mission to place my ready money in your hands to 
be invested in your business, either for a small 
share in the profits, or at the customary rate of in- 
terest. I should, of course, leave that for you to 
decide.” 

Berger stared at the stranger in speechless aston- 
ishment; his honesty was struggling violently 
against the impulse of self-preservation ; he was un- 
able to think clearly, to form any decision. She 
knew not how to interpret his silence ; but animated 
by the desire to put an end to his anxieties as 
quickly as possible, conquered her increasing em- 
barassment, and continued : “ I brought all I had in 


IN THE HOUR OF NEED. 


363 


the public funds with me ; it amounts to 165,000 
thalers, and I should like to have you take charge 
of it at once.” She placed a small package on the 
table before him. “ It is disagreeable for me to be 
obliged to take care of so much ready money in a 
hotel. Your note, or whatever you think proper to 
give me, you can send to-morrow.” 

The old man sat still before her, pale and silent, 
his breast heaving as if in some painful struggle, 
and there was indeed a mortal combat going on 
within its depths between his consciousness of 
right and his ardent desire to be preserved from 
disgrace and misery. The temptation was near 
liim, in its most alluring form. He need only 
stretcli out his liand to possess the means he required 
to re-establish his tottering credit, to regain his lost 
property. But could he practice such a deception 
upon this innocent creature who trusted herself so 
confidingly in his hands ? Should this frank, 
charming face be transformed into a picture of 
horror by his dishonesty ? Ho — he would rather 
endure ruin and disgrace in their most terrible 
forms, than be guilty of such want of conscience. 

“My dear young lady,” he said in a choking 
voice — he had scarcely strength to speak aloud — 
“ you give me a most flattering proof of confidence ; 
I will show that I deserve it by declining it.” 

“You reject my ofier?” she asked greatly 
alarmed. “ I beg you Herr Berger, tell me why ? ” 

“ Because I am not the rich man for whom you 
take me. Because I am unable to ofier you any 


SC4 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


kind of security for the large sum you wish to en- 
trust to me.” 

“ But dear Herr Berger,” faltered Margarethe in 
an imploring tone, I have not asked for any 
security from you. A simple receipt is sufficient, 
and you can write that at any moment.” 

“ You make it difficult for me to protect you from 
the consequence of your great confidence; in order 
to do so with entire success I must be perfectly 
fiaiik with you. I have suffered heavy losses. My 
debts exceed my property to nearly the wliole 
amount of the sum you wished to entrust to me — I 
am a ruined man.” 

As he made this painful confession in a low 
trembling voice, Margarethe turned very pale, and 
her eyes filled with tears, but almost before he fin- 
ished speaking, she said in a tone of eager entreaty : 
“ Oh ! Herr Berger, if that is true you must accept 
my proposal all the more readily. A man like you 
must not be ruined, a house like yours must not 
fall. Pray do not refuse me the honor of contribut- 
ing in some degree to the renewed prosperity of 
your firm ; and if you will not accept me for a 
creditor, make me your silent partner. I believe 
that is what they call it,” she added, with a sweet 
smile on her pale face. “ Satisfy your importunate 
creditors, and whatever else you may need to con- 
tinue your business I will gladly place at your dis- 
jiosal, so far as my means allow.” 

Trembling with agitation the old man faltered : 
“ I am too unworthy of the blessing, or I should 


IN THE HOUR OP NEED. 


365 


believe God has sent an angel to my aid. But 
child — child ! ” he exclaimed, seizing her hand, 
startled by a sudden suspicion, “tell me who you 
are ! ” 

“ Herr Berger,” whispered Margarethe timidly, 
“ I — I fear you will scarcely know my name.” 

“ I do — must know it — oh ! child, are you not 
Leo’s Margarethe?” 

“ Herr Berger,” exclaimed Margarethe alarmed 
and hall offended, forcibly withdrawing her hand. 
“ I was your son’s playmate, and am sincerely grate- 
ful to him for the great kindness he showed to me 
when I was a poor forsaken child. But no other tie 
exists between him and myself, nor ever can.” 

“ Hor ever can ?” asked Herr Berger, fixing his 
eyes thoughtfully upon her blushing face. “Will 
Leo think so too when he learns what immense sac- 
rifices you have made for us ! ” 

“ Herr Berger,” exclaimed Margarethe again, 
now standing before him deeply angered. “ I am 
sure if he did learn all, there would be no 
thought in his mind which he would be forced to 
conceal from his promised bride. But, I expect, 
nay demand, on your honor as a gentleman, an un- 
broken silence to be maintained in regard to every- 
thing that has passed between us. Your son and 
liis future wife need ne'cer learn who it is who be- 
comes from to-day the silent partner in the firm. I 
liave no more fervent desire than to save the friend 
and teacher of my childhood from anxiety and 
sorrow. For his sake, as well as mine, this must 


366 


NOT IN THEIK SET. 


be done without his having the slightest suspicion 
from whom the assistance ccmes.” 

“ Margarethe, my dear daughter,” stammered tlie 
man who had once been such a bitter enemy, deeply 
agitated, ‘‘ you are a glorious creature ! You wished 
to aid him without his knowing anything about it. 
You wished to give up all you possess for him with- 
out asking a word of thanks ! And you speak of 
his promised bride — dear child — who told you of 
his unhappy betrothal? ” 

“ I saw the announcement in a newspaper,” said 
Margarethe in a liollow tone. Herr Berger was 
about to reply; but he checked the Avords on his 
lips, murmuring : “ Ho — he shall tell her himself” 
Then turning to Margarethe he added : “ For Leo’s 
sake, my dear child, I gratefully accept your gen- 
erous assistance. I Avill go noAV and get you the 
necessary notes — no, do not protest against it. I 
shall return in a moment. Wait for me until I 
come for this,” he pointed to the package of bonds. 


THE BARRIER SURJNIOUNTED. 


367 


CPIAPTER XXIX. 

THE BARRIER SURMOUNTED. 

When his father left him, Leo’s eyes followed the 
old man with a sorrowful glance ; it was principally 
for his sake that he felt the misfortunes of the 
house so keenly. If the matter had concerned him- 
self alone, he would have seen the remainder of his 
property disappear into his creditors’ hands without 
any regret, and then cheerfully departed to some 
distant land. Xo ties bound him to his native city, 
and he was scarcely less indifferent to the proximity 
of the brother who had treated his father and him- 
self in such an unkind, unfilial manner. With the 
industry and energy on which he could rely, he 
could ere long have laid the foundations of a new 
career, far from home — and perhaps Margarethe 
would have consented to become his in a land 
where both were unknown. Oh ! what a happy, 
radiant vision this was amid the perplexities that 
surrounded him ! But the beautiful picture soon 
faded. Plow could he now, in his poverty, approach 
the beloved one whom his father had treated so 
slightingly, so long as he was rich and distinguished. 


368 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


No — the dream was too bright and fleeting for him 
to be permitted to indulge in it. These wishes, 
which could never be realized, weakened his 
strength, and he needed all his firmness and energy 
to stand manfully beside his unfortunate father; so 
he turned resolutely away from the enervating 
thoughts of his lost happiness, and buried himself 
in the anxieties of the present. 

When his father returned, he found him still ab- 
sorbed in these cares. “ Come, Leo,” he said kindly, 
and his voice sounded more cheerful than it had 
done for a long time, “ are you still sitting in the 
same corner where I left you ? Shake ofi* these sad 
thoughts, my boy. The time of misfortune is over, 
and the house of Berger & /Son” — he emphasized 
the last word — “ will, please God, still exist in 
honor for many a year.” 

At his father’s words Leo turned hastily towards 
him. He really feared the excess of sorrow had 
produced an injurious efiect upon the old man’s 
reason, and his face involuntarily expressed anxiety 
and compassion. 

The old man held out his hand with a smile. “ I 
believe you don’t trust your own senses, Leo ; but I 
will solve the mystery. A faithful, generous friend, 
whose equal could not be found in the world, heard 
of our misfortunes and hastened to our assistance.” 

“ Dear father, is it true ? Can it be possible ? ” 

“ Try to believe me ; the news I bring is so good,” 
said Berger with a gay laugh. “ Come, take your 
hat ; I must introduce you this very evening to the 


THE BARRIER SURMOUNTED. 


369 


one who has become our preserver in this great 
need.” 

The two gentlemen reached the ‘‘Black Eagle” 
in a very short time. Herr Bei-ger led the way up 
the stair-case, knocked at the door of a room on the 
first story, but instantly opened it as if he could 
scarcely wait for the friendly “ Come in,” and en- 
tered the apartment with Leo. 

“ Here he is, dear child, here he is. He shall 
thank you himself, and hear from your own lips how 
faithful you have been to him.” 

Margarethe had hastened forward to meet the 
old man, but as she heard his words and caught 
sight of his companion, she stopped in terror, falter- 
ing with white lips the name of Leo. 

“ Margarethe, it is Margarethe ! ” he exclaimed, 
equally agitated. “ Oh ! dear father, didn’t you 
know that it was Margarethe herself?” 

“ Of course, I knew it replied his father, smiling 
through his tears, “ and I thought I could give you 
both no greater pleasure than by bringing you to- 
gether at once. Did I not do right ? ” 

“ Right?” asked Leo trembling with joy as he 
tried to clasp Margarethe’s hand. “ Oh ! dearest 
father.” 

But Margarethe drew back calmly and gravely, 
saying reproachfully': “You have not kept your 
promise, Herr Berger.” 

“Have I not, my daughter? ” asked the latter 
with a joyous smile. “ But I could not keep it ; for 
I never made any. True, you wished me to say 


370 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


nothing to Leo about your generosity ; but in your 
eagerness to aid ns, yon didn’t notice that I failed 
to give my word.” 

“ Oh ! Margarethe, did you really ask that ! ” 
said Leo mournfully. You wished to save me from 
want and misery, but grudged me the blissful 
knowledge that you were my preserver ; the sweet 
joy of thanking you, you Margarethe? Do you 
suppose that all your wealth would be able to pro- 
cure for me one hour of happiness you did not 
share ? ” 

must hope so at least, Herr Berger,” replied 
Margarethe in a low tone, completely bewildered by 
his passionate complaints. 

“ You hope so ? And you speak to me so coldly ? 
Alas ! your tone was far warmer when you sent me 
from you, never to see me more.” 

Margarethe was deeply moved, his face, his voice, 
his very gestures began to exert their old magic ; 
but she regained her strength, and firmly resolving 
never to interfere with another’s rights, said with 
reproachful earnestness, although her heart was 
bleeding at the thought of giving him pain : “ At 
that time, Herr Berger, I allowed both you and 
myself to give expression to feelings inwhicli there 
might be anguish, but no wrong ; but now every 
recollection of a Past wliicli must be utterly dead 
to you, would wrong the just claims ot the Present.” 

“What are you talking about, Margarethe?” 
he asked in great perplexity. “ Can you have heard 


THE BARRIER SURMOUNTED. S'? I 

— speak- are you alluding to my betrothal to that 
— that Huldah Neuberg ? ” 

“ Can you doubt it? ” she asked, almost sternly. 
‘‘ Oh ! then all is well again ! ” he exclaimed joy- 
fully. “You will forgive me, I know you will, 
when j’ou learn that I never performed an act of 
greater self denial, than in the days when I took 
upon myself the burden of seeming faithlessness, 
while my heart was almost breaking in the struggle 
with its beloved memories of you.” 

As she still gazed at him earnestly in silence, he 
exclaimed with passionate regret, “ Oh ! Margar- 
ethe, don’t you believe me? Have you lost all 
confidence in me ? ” 

His agony destroyed all her doubts ; but she an- 
swered in a low tone: “No, Leo, 1 believe every 
word you say as implicitly as ever ; but what does 
that avail us when you are still bound to another! ” 
“ No,” he cried exultantly, “no, love, I am free! 
That girl had a passing fancy for the son of the 
wealthy Herr Berger, which was not sufficient to 
bind her to poor Leo, when his father’s losses be- 
came known. Do you still look sorrowfully at me ? 
After so many cares and sorrows will you not cheer 
my future life, and teach me to forget how near I 
have been to utter despair ? ” 

“I have never been angry with yon, Leo,” she 
said, hoMing out her hand to him, “ and I thank 
God that henceforward we shall be permitted to 
think of each other with love and joy; but I see 
your father will never — ” 


372 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


“I think, child,” exclaimed old Berger, trying 
to conceal his emotion, “ that you see rather incor- 
rectly. Do you really suppose I shall add ingrati- 
tude to my former contemptible arrogance? No, 
your generous heart does not believe it,” he con- 
tinued in an agitated tone, clasping her in his arms 
with paternal affection. “Come, Leo, take her 
from your father; love her and make her as happy 
as she deserves to be.” 

“ Father, dear father ! ” both exclaimed, and 
Margarethe, she scarcely knew how, found herself 
transferred from Herr Berger’s arms to her lover’s. 

“ Yes, children ! And you must allow the old 
man to live with you; for I cannot part from my 
little daughter, any more than from the son, who, 
without complaint, sacrificed everything to me, 
even his future peace, after my harshness had de- 
stroyed his happiness.” 


SOCIAL EQUALITY. 


873 


CHAPTER XXX. 

SOCIAL EQUALITY. 

The house of Berger & Son, as it was henceforth 
called, triumphed over the evil predictions and 
malicious hopes of its enemies, and in a short time 
obtained greater wealth, influence, and distinction 
than it had ever before possessed, so that the house 
of Hagendorf could no longer compete with it. 
This caused a slight feeling of envy to arise in Ru- 
dolph’s heart, but he was not yet wicked enough, 
not to struggle against it. The beautiful Emma, 
however, bitterly felt that she had fallen from the 
imaginary throne she had occupied as the most 
beautiful young married lady in her circle, the 
greatly admired daughter-in-law, and the wife of 
the richest merchant in the vicinity. She could not 
conceal it from herself. Her father-in-law placed 
the wife of his youngest son as far above her, as 
Leo was superior to his brother in every respect, 
and as for the gentlemen in their circle, “ they 
were all bewitched by the smooth face.” But the 
principal ladies also gradually drew near the charm- 
ing young wife with love and confidence. Berger’s 


374 


NOT IN THEIR SET. 


house soon became the most popular in the neigh- 
borhood, and even the cheerfulness of the old man, 
and the quiet refined manners of Fraulein Heber 
surpassed exerything of the kind that was to be 
found elsewhere. 

But every year Margarethe left her bright social 
home to spend a few quiet weeks at the old house 
in Bergefort. There she always received a beloved, 
eagerly welcomed visitor. This was the Countess 
Louise von Guntersburg, who ever since the day in 

the forester’s house at , had never growm cold 

in lier affection for Margarethe. The sisters clung 
to each other with deep tenderness and perfect 
trust; and if their loving intercourse w^as a sweet 
joy to Margarethe it became a real blessing to 
Louise. In her noble, gentle sister, she found the 
model of all the goodness and beauty for which her 
richly gifted nature so wdll fitted her. From her 
she learned gentleness and self-denial, love and 
patience ; and thus her bad qualities, her arrogance, 
coldness, and gloomy resignation, gradually disap- 
peared before her innate goodness and happiness. 
This happy change was especially beneficial to her 
husband, and well aware whom he had to thank for 
it, he always felt a deep, grateful reverence for 
Margarethe. True, in her hours of despondency, 
when the old gloominess asserted itself, Louise 
doubtless said to herself that it was far easier for 
her sister to be good and lovable, by the side of a 
husband whom she loved as ardently as he returned 
her affection, than for her, who was obliged to bear 


SOCIAL EQUALITY. 


375 


with so many weaknesses, and show so mucn for- 
bearance to Count Guntersburg. But she was al- 
ways compelled to acknowledge that she possessed 
her husband’s sincere affection, that it was his 
earnest and unceasing endeavor to make her happy, 
and if the destiny that had fallen to her lot was less 
happy than her dear Margarethe’s, it was still very 
enviable in comparison to the fate of many wives in 
her position in society. And besides, I do not de- 
serve to be so happy as she, nor do I expect it,” she 
murmured, “ but I will not grow weary of learning 
from her, that she may always consider me worthy 
of her love.” 

Margarethe never saw her father; she did not 
wish to do so, for she thought — perhaps with reason 
— that in a personal intercourse she should scarcely 
be able to show a child’s proper respect to the 
man from whom her mother had suffered such a 
bitter wrong ; but she sent him many affectionate 
messages by Louise, and received his fatherly bles- 
sing. She gave her sister’s name to her oldest 
daughter, and Countess Guntersburg had a hand- 
some little son with fair curls and laughing blue 
eyes, whom she called Leo. “ I have no daughter, 
Margarethe,” she said, “but you must be my child’s 
god-mother; so as I can’t name the little fellow 
Gretchen, he shall bear your husband’s name, and 
thus my family and myself will always have a 
memento of yo i and your happy household.” 


THE EXD, 











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has little in common with the idyllic romance of a Crusoe on a 
desert island. Much of the author’s adventure had its place 
among the mines and savages of Nevada and the country east 
of the Rocky Mountains. His observations of the Indians and 
the effects on them of the policy pursued by the Government 
give a value to the book beyond its interest as a narrative. 

SCHOOL DAYS AT MOUNT PLEAS- 

ANT. Including Sketches and Legends of the “ Neutral 
Ground.” By Ralph Morley. Illustrated by Forbes, 
Bonwell and Waud. Tinted Paper, 328 Pages, i2mo.. 
Cloth Extra, Elaborate Designs in Black and Gold, $1.50. 

The records of the scholastic novitiate, when pleasantly 
written, are always entertaining, for they recall the most de- 
lightful period of every man’s existence, when life was but a 
giddy anticipation of worldly success and coveted fame. The 
author of this volume, which has been beautifully published by 
Henry L. Hinton, 744 Broadway, has narrated under the 
pseudonym of Ralph Morley, the joys and sorrows, the past- 


limes and emulations of a cadet. There are many fine passages, 
both of dialogue and description, in the book, which has the 
obvious and decided merit with-al of being a genuine outgrowth 
of the soil, a distinctive production of New York . — New York 
Evening Post, 


PAMPHLETS. 

BOOTH’S ACTING PLAYS. SHAKE- 

speare’s and other Plays Adapted for Represen- 
tation AT Booth’s Theatre. 8vo., paper, 30 cents. 

I. RICHARD III. 

II. MACBETH. 

III. MERCHANT OF VENICE. 

IV. FOOL’S REVENGE. 

V. ROMEO AND JULIET. 

VI. BRUTUS. 

VH. LADY OF LYONS. 

VHI. OTHELLO. 

IX. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTPHNG. 

X. RICHELIEU. 

XI. MERCHANT OF VENICE, ending with the 
4th act of Shakespeare. 

XH. RICHARD HI. Col ley Cibbers’ version. 

XHI. HAMLET. 

XIV. JULIUS C^SAR. 

RIP VAN WINKLE. THE BOOTH’S 

Theatre Edition, Irving’s Story, with illustrations^ 
by Darley. 8vo., Tinted Paper, 50 cts. 

ENOCH ARDEN. THE BOOTH’STHEA- 

TRE Edition. Tennyson’s Poems, Beautifully Printed, 
Royal 8vo., Tinted Paper, 5octs. 

BOOTH’S THEATRE PORTRAIT GAL- 

EERY. A concise description of the Stage of Booth’s Thea- 
tre. Illustrated by nine Large Wood Cuts, also a fine cut 
of the exterior of the building, with eight Portraits of leading 
actors. Printed on heavy tinted paper. Royal 8vo. 32 
pages, 25cts. 

SELLING OUT POPE. A SATIRE. 

By M. Byer. i6mo., 32 pages, 25cts. 

** The satire is humorous rather than sarcastic, and the author 
holds up his subjects for merriment more than for ridicule.” 













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